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carakook · 3 months

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Shut Up .・。.・゜✭・.

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“If I fuck you, will you calm the fuck down and listen to me?”

🔞FOR MATURE AUDIENCES🔞

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Synopsis: After taking a job as a co-writer, you quickly find that you and your “boss” just don’t get along. Constantly butting heads, disagreeing on things, and he isn’t even nice about it. He’s a fucking dick. He’s always criticizing you in embarrassing ways, but you’ve tried to be patient, ride it out. Over the short time you’ve worked here, the tension has built quickly, and it is clear both of you cannot stand each other. Unfortunately, today is the day you reach your limit after he humiliates you in front of several of your coworkers… and the “conflict resolution” is definitely something you did not expect.

Genre: Enemies to lovers (or hookup in this case), workplace affair.

Pairings: Boss/Writer!Namjoon x Co-writer!Reader

Word count: 7.5k+

Warnings: 18+, Heavy smut!! Hate sex, protected sex (wrap it up), rough sex, face fucking, light slapping (not in the face), a bit of spit play, face fucking, cussing, crying (sort of), heavy conflict, degradation, arguing, name calling, a bit of teasing, cum eating? (Sort of), dry humping, face humping, being slapped with dick (lightly), Let me know if I missed anything!

⚠Disclaimer⚠:This story does not in any way reflect the character of those who are mentioned, it is totally fiction and just for fun. Please don’t take it seriously.

A/N: Hiiii! This is my first one shot. I’ve actually had it in my drafts for a long time but never posted it, I decided to finish it recently and post it here. I hope you like it! I love writing, have soooo many drafted one shots/full on fanfics with each of the boys. A looot of them are with Jungkook, can’t help myself. He’s my lover… 😭 Anyway, if you guys end up liking this I’ll post more. Thank you so much for reading if you do!

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.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

There aren’t many things you regret in life. Because if you allow yourself to regret things, you overthink. Overthinking is never a good thing.

See, it wasn’t awful at first. But the moment you met Kim Namjoon, you could tell he had a problem with you. What? You didn’t know. You still don’t know. But he never bothered hiding it.

You powered through, because this was sort of like a dream job for you. You loved writing music, writing lyrics. It was hard to even find a job like this to begin with. So when you got the callback, you jumped at the chance. You were so excited to be working here, and you were familiar with Kim Namjoon. You thought his songs were beautiful, his writing style seemed similar to yours.

Boy, you were wrong.

Not even a week into working here he was heavily criticizing you. But again… you pushed through. Because you were new, he had a right to be picky. This was his studio, he was technically your boss… technically. So you tried to be patient and listen to his criticism.

Which didn’t last long. Because he was not subtle. Arguably, there is a difference between constructive criticism and being blatantly rude and picky. Namjoon was straight-up rude. And at times it was embarrassing.

Nothing you did seemed to satisfy him. Every single time you brainstormed with him and the team, he disagreed with you. Every time you proposed lyrics, he rejected your ideas. Every time you so as much opened your mouth, he had an issue with what you had to say.

You tried to be patient… you genuinely did. But you don’t like feeling disrespected or embarrassed. And you certainly don’t take shit from anyone. So the last two weeks you’ve both been bickering, and the tension is noticeable not only to you and Namjoon but to the entire damn team.

The worst part about it all? You are so fucking attracted to him. He makes your tummy swoop with butterflies. He smells good. He’s tall, his dimples are fucking adorable, and his body… god, he is to die for. The sexual tension is prominent.

If only he wasn’t such a dick.

Today pushed you to your limits. Never in your life have you been more embarrassed.

It all started with a song he was working on. He played the beat, and immediately you were inspired. You got excited. Your attitude was bright, and you immediately jotted the lyrics down on your paper when they came to mind. You seriously thought today would be the day he’d be proud. He would agree. You felt good about it.

Only for him to burst out laughing when he read the lyrics. That wasn’t even the worst part. It’s bad enough that he laughed at you in front of the entire team. But what he said next is what made you lose your shit.

“Oh- shit. You’re serious?”

He stared at you for a moment, taking in your very irritated expression. And then he fucking laughed again.

“Fuck, Y/N. I thought this was a joke. God, I wish it was a joke because it would be hilarious if it was. It sounds like a fucking kids-bop song. You can’t be serious.”

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

You went off on him. In front of everyone. For three minutes straight you cursed him out, waived your hands around, and made it clear how much you cannot stand him and how rude he has been. How humiliated you feel. You’ve always been praised for your writing, so why the fuck doesn’t he like it? You are fucking pissed.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to cuss your boss out in front of everyone… but at this point, you don’t care. If he gets you fired by the company, oh-fucking-well.

Namjoon stares at you for a moment once you’re done. Your chest is heaving, your cheeks are red, and your brows are furrowed angrily. Clearly, he didn’t expect your outburst. His nostrils are flared and his jaw is tense, it even does the little tick thing that drives you crazy. Fuck him for being so hot. Fuck him for being so damn hot and such a dick.

He raises a brow at you, tongue in cheek, making that angry face that would be incredibly attractive if it weren’t directed at you. He lets out an angry huff of air before speaking.

“Studio. Now.”

He points at his studio as he says this as if you’re too stupid to understand his words. This pisses you off even more.

“You’re not my fucking boss.”

He scoffs at you, briefly smiling at your bold choice of words. You infuriate him just as much as he infuriates you.

“Actually, Y/N, I am. Studio. Now.”

You know that technically, he is your boss. But you refuse to listen to him after how humiliated he made you feel. In front of everyone, how dare he speak to you this way? Regardless of his weird hate for you. Besides, he can’t fire you. He may be able to request it, but you know that he won’t. From what you’ve heard, It took forever to fill this position. He was picky when it came to hiring someone… which makes this more confusing. You can’t figure out what his issue is with you, especially when he is the one who helped pick you for the job. Regardless, you know that he doesn’t have the patience to do it again. He’s full of shit.

You stand your ground. You won’t back down this time. You’re tired of the disrespect.

“No, Namjoon. Whatever you want to say, you can say it here. You’ve already embarrassed me, so go ahead, do it some more. I’m sure you get off on it.”

No longer smiling, his gaze is dark. He’s pissed. Now he’s a bit embarrassed… that’s what he gets.

“I won’t ask again. You can march your ass upstairs, or I can carry you. Your choice.”

You say nothing, surely he wouldn’t do that. He’s bluffing. Regardless of how harsh he has been towards you, you know that he wouldn’t cross that line. You hope that he doesn’t. The last thing that you want is for him to touch you. Not because he makes you uncomfortable, but because you already have enough dirty thoughts about him. You hate him, yet he turns you on in a way you’ve never felt. Lust driven by pure hatred, it’s a dangerous thing.

But of course, you were wrong, and he never ceases to surprise you. Never underestimate Kim Namjoon.

You stay silent, secretly hoping that he will just back down and continue the brainstorming session. But is Kim Namjoon the type of man to back down? No. He never has been.

He strides over to you quickly, taking big steps in your direction, causing you to miss your chance to run.

He swiftly grabs your waist and hoists you over his shoulder, his fingers digging into your thighs. You don’t even have time to react before he starts carrying you upstairs to the studio. He has no trouble doing so either, carrying you as if you weigh nothing.

You come to your senses and swat at his back while you yell profanities at him, demanding that he put you down, threatening to report him, and telling him that he’ll be fired by morning if he doesn’t stop.

But you know that he won’t. This company would never side with you, no matter what Namjoon did. They relied on him. They didn’t rely on you. You were replaceable, even if it would be difficult. Namjoon is not replaceable.

“Resume the session. If you finish before we’re done, you’re free to go. This may take a while. Don’t interrupt us.”

Hurried nods are sent in his direction, no one dares protest him or intervene. Cowards.

He kicks the door open to the studio, entering with ease, making sure not to hit your head on the doorframe as he walks in. You wish he would have hit your head, knocked you out, hell even thrown you over the staircase. Anything to avoid this humiliation he has cursed you with. You almost wish you would’ve just kept your damn mouth shut.

But the damage is done now. No point in backing down.

He throws you roughly on the couch sitting opposite his desk and then closes the door, locking it before facing you.

You glare at him, chest heaving, heart beating out of your chest. You’re just as pissed as he is. Yet, you still find yourself clenching your thighs together, irritated at the fact that he turns you on so much. You shouldn’t be horny right now… yet you are. The way he squeezed your thighs… fuck. Fuck him. God, fuck him to hell. You hate him.

“What the fuck was that?” You nearly growl at him.

He stands in front of you, arms crossed, looking down on you as if you’re nothing more than a pesky roach that he wants to squash.

“I told you, you could walk, or I could carry you. You made your choice, clearly.”

Fuck him.

“Fuck you, Namjoon. This is ridiculous.”

He laughs. He laughs at you.

Fuck him.

“You are ridiculous, Y/N. Why are you even here, if you can’t take criticism?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I can take criticism, constructive criticism, something that you are apparently incapable of giving. You’re so fucking mean to me and I’ve done NOTHING to you.”

“No, I-“

You cut him off, unable to control your mouth.

“And another thing, it’s only me that you speak to this way. I’ve yet to see you speak to anyone else the way that you do me. What is your issue with me, why do you hate me so much?”

“Maybe if you-“

You cut him off again, and his jaw does the tick thing. He’s getting angrier, but you do not give a fuck.

“No, this isn’t on me. I earned my spot here, I was hired for a reason, and everyone else respects me, why don’t you?”

“Because-“

Again.

Fuck him.

“There is no reason, you obviously have some sort of sick vendetta against me. You’re fucking insufferable!”

“Me? No, you-“

Again.

And he’s had enough.

“No, fuck you Namjoon, fuck you and this weird ass game you’re playing, you—“

He borderline growls before he pins you on the couch.

You don’t even have time to register what he’s doing, and if you did, you’d slap the shit out of him.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

His lips crash into yours as he hovers over you, one knee perched in between your legs, while his other leg steadies him. He grabs your face with force, so rough that you swear he could break your jaw if he gripped you any harder. His other hand is on the back of the couch, steadying him the same and pinning you in place.

The kiss is no different. His lips assault yours, and he wastes no time in forcing his tongue into your mouth. He kisses you with vigor. A kiss unlike any you’ve ever experienced before. You’ve only ever been kissed like this in your dreams, the same dreams that wake you up in the middle of the night leaving you touch-starved. It’s fucking aggressive and rough.

And of course, you kiss him back. You don’t want to. Yet you do. You don’t want to give in to him. But you do. You can’t help it. As soon as he made his move, you were under his control. He has that way about him, he’s easily able to affect people. You were a different story. You always defied him, disagreed with him, challenged him. Yet, this is the way that he tames you, even if only for a minute. Shit. You’re weaker than you thought.

He nips your bottom lip before pulling back, your jaw still in his grip. His nostrils are flared and his breathing is rigid, as if he’s just as shocked as you are at his actions.

And he is. He has no idea why he just kissed you. He has no idea what came over him. He just wanted you to shut the fuck up, and he acted on impulse. And now he has a raging hard-on, which pisses him off even more. He doesn’t want to want you, in the same way that you don’t want to want him. But you both do.

He whispers, searching your face, studying your reaction.

“Do you ever just shut the fuck up and listen?”

You clear your throat, still trying to come down from the rush of the kiss, adrenaline running through your veins.

“I-“

“Do you know how fucking irritated you make me?”

Suddenly, you have no fight left in you. You feel intimidated. Fuck him.

“Then why-“

“Am I gonna have to kiss you every time you need to shut the fuck up?”

You blink at him, unable to respond. You have no idea what to do, or how to react, and are becoming distracted by the puddle seeping between your thighs.

You haven’t had sex in over a year. You haven’t been able to grow interest in someone enough to give them that piece of yourself again. Your last situation-ship left you simply sick of men. Sex wasn’t appealing enough to go through that again. But, of course, as if the universe is punishing you, Namjoon awakens your sex drive.

You nervously bite your lip and clench your thighs, not even realizing what you’re doing. You’re on the verge of tears, overwhelmed with anger and lust. And this doesn’t go unnoticed by Namjoon.

He looks down at your thighs, and you immediately unclench them. Your cheeks betray you by reddening, thanks to the smirk that very clearly gives away that he knows exactly what you’re feeling right now.

He keeps his eyes on your thighs for a moment before looking up at you. He smirks, raising a brow, giving you a crooked smile that tells you he knows your dirty little secret. Your jaw is still firmly in his grasp.

“Is that it? You’re sexually frustrated? Is that why you’re being such a bitch?”

You try to wriggle from his grasp, embarrassed, angry, horny. You’re starting to wish he would just fire you. Anything to save you the embarrassment of his knowing glare.

“Fuck you.”

He chuckles, bringing his face closer to yours, so close that you can feel his breath touch your lips.

“Yeah? Fuck me? If I fuck you, will you calm the fuck down and listen to me?”

You blink at him again and say nothing. You want to protest, tell him how gross he is, tell him how much you hate him, tell him that he’s the worst. Yet, his idea just makes you hornier. You’ve never had hate sex, and oh fuck, you’re sure that it would improve your mood, even some of the tension between you two.

But it pains you to even admit that. It’s humiliating. He has humiliated you enough.

He moves his hand to the back of your head, angling it upwards so that he has better access to your neck. He places his lips on your jaw, running his teeth up it, leading to the crook of your neck, keeping his lips on you as he speaks his next words.

He grabs your wrist with his other hand, leading it to his crotch, coaxing you to feel him. And he’s hard. So hard that you’re certain a button will break on his jeans. Fuck. He feels giant… You’re so fucked.

“Do you see what you do to me? Never in my life have I had anyone piss me off to the point of getting a fucking boner.”

You can’t help but whimper at his dirty words, but you make sure to bite your lip, preventing yourself from begging him to take you as you so desperately want to. You aren’t one to beg for anything. And you hate him even more for bringing you to that point.

“I’ve thought about fucking you so many times, Y/N. Fucking you to the point that you don’t even remember your own name, and my name is the only thing that you can scream. I just wanna fuck you until you shut the fuck up.”

“Please, just… do it then.”

Word vomit. You thought it but didn’t intend to say it. Yet, you said it. Of course, you did. You’re on the brink of cumming just from his filthy words.

He kisses your neck before speaking. And you can feel him smile as he does so.

Fuck him.

“Oh, Y/N, baby, hearing you beg makes it so tempting. I never thought you’d be the type, considering the amount of shit you talk.”

You croak out, suddenly feeling defensive, “I’m not. I don’t beg for shit.” You weakly push at his chest, even though you both know damn well you don’t want him to stop.

He laughs, pulling back to look at you, keeping his face close.

“Yet, here you are, begging for my cock like a desperate whore.”

You frown at him, feigning offense, when in reality his degradation is making you even more desperate. Why? You don’t know. You’ve never liked being degraded, in fact, nothing turns you off more than being called names… but hearing it come out of Namjoon's mouth? Fuck.

“I’m not a whore.” You whisper.

He tilts his head at you, amused.

“Fucking obviously, you’re acting like you’ve never been touched before. Are you this needy with other men?”

“There are no other men.”

He studies you for a moment, carefully calculating his next move. The way that he looks at you makes you feel insecure, as if he’s a judge on one of those cooking shows, trying to figure out whether he likes the taste of you or not. You have the urge to push him away and take off, his gaze is too goddamn intense.

He is too intense. Never met a man like him.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You mumble, looking away from him.

“Like what?” He asks, furrowing his brows. Amused.

“Like you think I’m the most vile thing on earth.”

He’s taken aback by your response, almost looking offended. Because that is the last thing he was thinking. If only you knew.

“Vile? Baby, I’m so hard for you right now that it hurts, do you know how hot you are when you’re pissed? Fucking annoying, but soooo hot.”

You squirm, your cheeks pinking again. You didn’t expect that. You expected him to laugh in your face and agree. He grunts as he takes in your facial expression. If only you knew what you truthfully do to him. He closes his eyes and scrunches his brows, taking a deep breath before he pulls away from you, leaving you considering getting on your damn knees and begging for him to touch you again.

He chuckles while shaking his head, eyes still closed as he speaks. As if he’s in pain from pulling away from you.

“Yeah, fuck, and you’re cute when you blush. This is fucked. I can’t stand you, yet you’re so fucking cute. What the fuck are you doing to me? Huh?”

Fuck. He’s making this hard. You’re so overwhelmed. So pissed, so horny, you wanna push him away and cuss him out some more, but also you’ve never wanted another man more in your life than you do him right now.

Both of you stare at each other silently for a moment. His jaw keeps doing the tick thing, and you squeeze your thighs tighter, rubbing them together to relieve some pressure. His eyes flick to them, and you don’t even bother hiding it this time. As humiliating as it is, his cock is hard and bulging out of his jeans. So you can’t find yourself caring too much at the moment.

What really makes his resolve waver is the way you’re looking at him, which you don’t even realize. Normally you look at him with such disdain, as if he’s the vile one. But right now? Your eyes are wide and glossy, your lip stuck between your teeth. You’re looking at him almost sweetly. The desperation in your gaze is impossible to hide.

He loses it completely.

“Ah, fuck it.” He declares before grabbing you by your hair again as he sits on the couch. He tugs you roughly into his lap and starts devouring your mouth again.

You let out a little huff of air as he does this, not quite used to the rough handling. But god, it’s fucking divine. You feel as if all of the anger you’ve held for him comes rushing out in the form of kisses and touches. He feels the same.

His hand leaves your hair and he grips your hips, roughly grinding his hard cock onto your pussy. Dry humping like fucking teenagers as you make out aggressively.

Your hands come to rest on his face, framing it as they tremble slightly from the overwhelming emotions. You don’t hold back this time either, licking into his mouth wantonly, letting out little grunts and mewls that make his cock strain and twitch inside of his jeans.

His hands leave your hips to grip your ass, and he fucking groans into your mouth. He slaps it once, testing. When you let out a whine, he slaps it much harder this time, making your body jerk slightly.

He laughs into your mouth and says breathily, “Fuck, you really are a whore aren’t you?”

You bite his lip hard when he says this. You hate it. You love it. You grind down harder onto his clothed cock. He reaches back up to grip your hair and tugs your head back, pulling on it harshly and pulling you away from his mouth.

He grins when he hears you whine at the loss of his lips. “You wanna fucking bite me, huh? Uh-uh, fuck no you don’t.”

He pushes you off of his lap and lets go of your hair, you look up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and confusion. Honestly, you already look fucked out and he’s barely done anything. You’re just touch-starved, so every little kiss and touch is fucking you up. You’re craving relief from both your sexual frustration and the building irritation he’s caused you over the last month.

Before you even realize what he’s about to do, he grabs your hair again, his grip much firmer this time. It actually kind of hurts… yet you don’t stop him. He pushes your face roughly into his clothed cock, and grinds onto your face as he spreads his legs wider on the couch.

Oh fuck.

He grunts as he starts nearly smothering you. When he feels a bit of your drool gets onto his crotch, he yanks your head back, he laughs again, “Bet your big fucking mouth is great at sucking cock. Should we find out?”

You just glare at him. Don’t wanna give him the satisfaction even though every single thing he has done so far has made you borderline cream your pants.

He clicks his tongue, “No? Don’t have anything to say now? Isn’t that funny…”

Fuck him.

He keeps his grip tight on your hair as he uses his other hand to fumble with his zipper and button. Once it’s undone, he whips his cock out. It hits the fabric of his rumpled shirt and is already dripping precum.

Holy. Fuck. His cock is huge. A good nine inches.

He yanks your head forward again, literally smearing your face all over it, humping your face again. His head falls back and he grunts at the feeling. Your skin is just so soft, and the way your makeup is already becoming fucked up is making him go crazy. He’s always loved sloppy sex. And you are fucking gorgeous like this, he thinks.

He grabs his cock with his free hand as he tilts your head back, starts slapping your mouth with it, your cheeks too. The precum starts stringing from your cheek to the tip of his cock, and you can see his pupils dilate even bigger, he almost looks like he’s about to lose control.

He says uncharacteristically softly, “If you want me to stop, pinch my thigh real hard, yeah?”

If you had even a single moment of free thought, you would’ve probably been thankful that he gave you an out. You know despite him being a huge piece of work, he’s not a bad guy. So the fact he’s setting boundaries in your favor, even in the heat of the moment, is comforting. He cares about your safety and comfort. It’s the bare minimum of course, but most men lack even that. It’s why you stopped having casual sex to begin with.

But you don’t have a moment to think because pushes your lips down onto his cock abruptly, your mouth opens on instinct and he shoves himself inside. Doesn’t even ease into it, he just straight up plows his cock inside of your mouth until your nose is pressed against his pelvis.

You cough, and gag, already drooling all over him. Fuck it’s hot. You’ve never been face fucked like this before, but you’re starting to think maybe you’ve been missing out on good sex if this is how good rough sex feels.

You can’t even imagine what his cock would feel like inside of you if it feels this good in your mouth.

When he sees tears start to form, he pulls your hair back, strings of spit and precum connecting from your mouth and onto the tip of his cock. Fuck, it felt so good feeling your throat constrict around his cock. His resolve is wavering heavily. But he’s trying to remain patient. He smirks at you, stroking his spit-covered cock lazily directly onto your lips, causing beads of precum to escape his tip and cover your lips like lipgloss.

“Fuck, look at you. And you haven’t said a damn word. So pretty when you shut up.”

Your cheeks flush and you say petulantly, “Fuck you.” Because even now you don’t wanna give him the satisfaction.

That’s short-lived though because he starts fucking your mouth again. He shoves his cock inside and starts thrusting into your mouth as if it’s a goddamn sex toy. He hits the back of your throat with every thrust, causing you to gag and cough, your hands squeezing his thighs hard but not pinching.

You can take it.

He grunts out, “Fuck… I swear to god I’ll fuck your pretty little mouth every goddamn time you mouth off from now on Y/N, since nothing else has worked so far.”

Each word punctuated by a harsh thrust, he grunts our, “Just shut. the. fuck. up. Fuuuck.”

He keeps fucking up into your mouth, not easing up even for a second. Your eyes roll back in your head, and all you can do is take it. His thrusts only become sloppier and wetter. His head is thrown back and his abdomen starts clenching hard. But he knows you need to breathe. As much as he wishes he could just cum down your throat; he has other plans…

He pulls your head back again, he’s already feeling a bit too close to cumming. He doesn’t wanna cum too fast, he’s certain it would give you more to talk shit about.

He gazes down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth parted slightly and his breaths coming in fast. You look utterly fucked. Your makeup is ruined completely now, your eyes are red and teary, and your pretty pink lips are swollen. His stomach flutters, because he thinks you have never looked prettier.

He’s always thought you were so pretty. It’s one of the reasons he can’t stand you. He isn’t supposed to want you. You’re his coworker, technically his subordinate.

But none of that matters now, does it?

He doesn’t look much better, his shirt is covered in wet spit and his boxers are ruined too. He should’ve taken his clothes off… but luckily, he thinks it’s so much hotter this way.

His cock twitches against his belly, and he strokes your cheek with his free hand. He murmurs, “You good?”

You nod stupidly at him even as drool dribbles down your chin and your mascara runs onto your cheeks. There’s nothing to say really. You’ve never enjoyed having a dick down your throat so much. And he has effectively shut you up.

He nods and guides your head up, kisses you deeply. His eyes roll back as he tastes his precum on your tongue. So fucking good, he thinks.

He guides your pliant body to lay down on the couch, and then he settles in between your legs, his hands stroking up and down your thighs as he looks you over. God, there is so much he wants to do to you. He wants to use you but also wants to make you come undone as many times as possible.

Maybe then you’ll be more tolerable. Maybe this is what you both need, he rationalizes.

But he’s getting impatient. His cock is standing tall as he looks down at you, visibly pulsating, jerking upward now and then. And fuck, it’s making you impatient too. So much so that you whine at him, “Fuck, stop looking and just do something.”

His jaw ticks. He’s getting irritated. That’s what you think, anyway. But in reality, he’s preening on the fact you’re just as impatient as he is. It gives him an excuse to cut the foreplay and fuck you stupid.

You want him to do something? Oh, he will.

He lets out an almost mocking laugh, “Yeah? Want me to do something about it? You sure?”

You groan and roll your eyes at him, scooting your ass closer to his pelvis on the couch, his cock dripping so much precum, you have no idea how he’s not losing his mind right now. You certainly are. In fact, he’s starting to piss you off again.

Right as you’re about to talk shit, he can immediately tell. He grabs the front of your button-up and he rips it open. Doesn’t unbutton it like a normal person, but fucking rips it open, sending buttons flying on the floor of the studio. You let out a grunt, and blink at him in surprise with your mouth open.

You liked that shirt. Fuck him.

“Fucking seriously? You’re ruining my clothes now?”

Your patience is almost nonexistent at this point. You have drool and precum drying on your chin, you’re so horny it hurts, and he just ripped your shirt open like a wild fucking animal.

But him? It’s like he’s not even paying attention. His eyes are averted downward, tongue flicking over his lips. He looks almost stupid like this. What the fuck?

You look down to see what he’s gawking at, and… Oh. Oh. Kinda slipped your mind that you aren’t wearing a bra today. You were running late this morning and forgot to throw one on. Oops.

Namjoon doesn’t even look at your face at this point. His eyes are glued to your tits. He feels kind of ridiculous, getting this worked up over tits. He’s seen tits many times, it’s nothing new. But something about yours has him salivating, has his cock jerking upward.

He reaches down and starts lightly slapping the sides of your tits, watching them jiggle with a gaze full of hunger, he rasps out, “Not the only thing I’m gonna be ruining.”

One hand remains playing with your tits like they’re fucking stress balls, and Namjoon would argue that they absolutely are. The other hand reaches down and lifts your skirt, causing it to pool around your waist. He looks down a bit further, begrudgingly tearing his eyes away from your perfect tits, his other hand pushing your ruined panties to the side. He groans, nearly growls when he notices how wet you are. Fuck. He’s so close to losing control.

He dips a single finger into your sopping heat, just barely. Moves the creamy juices around before pushing his finger fully inside, squeezing your tit hard in his other hand. Your hips buck up involuntarily and your head falls back against the couch. You fucking hate yourself for the desperate noise that claws out of your throat.

Namjoon is no better, the moment he feels how wet you truly are, he lets a sound that sounds no better than the one you just let out. His breathing picks up, his heart starts beating faster, and his cock is so hard at this point that it’s actually painful. God, you are just so tight. Your pussy is clenching around his finger as if it’s trying to swallow him whole.

“N-Namjoon— please. Fuck. Please.” You beg again, don’t even care how pathetic you sound. A single fucking finger isn’t enough for how badly you want him right now. Want to be filled up and fucked hard. He’s barely moving it too. Just lightly grazing your walls, and it’s so frustrating. You just want to cum. Get it all out.

Namjoons resolve finally breaks when he sees a trickle of creamy white drip out of your pussy and onto the couch, he can’t take it anymore. He genuinely wanted to tease you, make a fucking mess of you. Make you beg and cry for him because of how much you piss him off. But not even he is strong enough to stall, he needs you. Now.

One last slap to the tit, he pulls his hand away and hastily reaches over for his wallet on the side table next to the couch. He pulls a condom out, brings the wrapper up to his mouth, and tears it open. And fuck, that’s so sexy. Your pussy clenches his finger again at the sight, and then he jerks it out of your pussy with a grunt.

You whine at him, almost feeling offended. But Namjoon knows damn well he’s going a little crazy because he just got jealous. Jealous of his own fucking finger. Should be his cock, not his finger. What the fuck are you doing to him?

He doesn’t warn you before he stuffs the same finger, accompanied by another finger, into your mouth. Nearly making you choke just like you did on his cock. Then he tosses the wrapped condom onto your bare chest, “Put it on me. Quick.”

You don’t even hesitate, you grab the condom with shakey hands and fumble it out of the package, all while sucking his fingers clean of your own juices. It only turns you on more, tasting yourself on his skin.

You reach for his cock, grab it with one shaky hand and his hips buck into it a bit. He lets out a little hiss through his teeth because of how sensitive it is, neglected for too long. That’s how it feels, anyway.

You roll the condom onto his cock snuggly and then look up at him expectantly with a desperate but wrecked look. Give him the best ‘fuck me’ eyes you can muster up. He keeps his fingers in your mouth. Doesn’t even move. Again, drawing it out. Attempting to, anyway.

You whine against his fingers, and would probably be begging him if you could talk. But Namjoon can’t take it anymore, lucky for you. He moves his hips forward and uses his free hand to position his cock at your entrance.

The moment the tip is sucked into your tight hole, he snaps. Literally, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. You cry out even with your mouth around his fingers, sounding muffled and wet. Your back arched obscenely because fuck you didn’t expect him to just go in like that.

You’re not complaining though, fuck no.

His head falls back like yours, and he stays like that for a moment, his teeth grit and eyes clenched shut. He removes his fingers from your mouth and grabs your face with one hand, smooshing your cheeks, the other hand coming back up to your tit and squeezing it harshly, as if he just can’t help himself. Squeezing so hard that it kinda hurts. But fuck, it feels so good. You’re starting to realize maybe you have a thing for shit like this.

Doesn’t help when you feel his cock twitching inside of you. It’s just enough stimulation to make your pussy start throbbing around him.

It’s pathetic how close you already are. But god, it feels like he edged you for hours. Even though he barely did anything. You guess you just kinda forgot what actual dick felt like compared to your fingers or a toy.

He starts moving his hips slowly, trying to be patient while your pussy adjusts to his size. But your patience left the moment he entered you.

“Fuck. Go faster, please.”

Your voice sounds high-pitched and a bit loud which you don’t even realize. You can’t control it. He clicks his tongue at this, gives your face a little shake as he says, “Thought I told you to shut the fuck up? Unless you want all of your coworkers to know you’re letting your boss fuck the shit out of you like a whore? That what you want?”

He pulls back out and then slams in again. You let out another cry, body jolting at the force. And he starts just pounding into you.

You asked for this.

How the fuck are you supposed to be quiet when he goes from 0 to 100 like that? Holy fuck.

“Oh, so you do? You want them all to know I’m making you my slut after humiliating you for your shitty writing? C’mon, speak up. Can’t hear you. Use your fucking words.”

All while snapping his hips harshly into yours, out one moment, deep inside the next. You can barely take it. You swear you can feel him in your fucking stomach. Hardly even register his degrading words because you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t even control the loud noises coming out of your mouth, although you desperately try.

Tears prickle your eyes, not because it hurts but because you’re overwhelmed. He’s so hard to figure out. Acting like he’s gonna tease you one moment, and then fucking you like he’s trying to split you in half the next.

He lets out a grunt at your lack of response and ends up squishing your cheeks harder, forcing your mouth open. He leans down slightly and fucking spits in your mouth and then stuffs his fingers back in your mouth, “Actually, just shut the fuck up. Keep your mouth busy and shut the fuck— ah, fuck— the fuck up.”

Fucking disgusting. Fucking hot.

The way his words falter and he loses train of thought for a second makes your pussy clench deliciously around him. Because it’s confirmation that he is just as affected as you are. Just as fucked up right now.

You both look a mess. Your shirt is torn open, your skirt all crooked and pushed up to your waist, and your panties aren’t even fully off. His shirt is still damp with spit, his pants only halfway pulled down and now there’s a creamy white stain on the front of them from your juices dripping down his dick.

It’s heaven, honestly. Or maybe hell. You aren’t sure. But it feels so fucking good.

His hips piston into your cunt hard and fast, and you do your best to focus on sucking his fingers, but the pressure is building fast. You can feel your pussy start to flutter, your clit throbbing, begging to be paid attention to. He can feel it too, it’s making him go crazy because of how responsive you are.

He slams home one more time before staying there, swiveling his hips in a circle so that his pelvis brushes against your clit each time, giving it the minimal amount of attention that has you nearly seeing stars, almost there, but not quite.

“Need more?” He pants out.

You nod your head quickly, his fingers covered in your saliva at this point. Dripping in the essence of you just like his cock. He nods back, removes his other hand from your hip, and settles it at the bottom of your belly, pushing down and placing his thumb over your clit. He starts flicking it fast and starts fucking into you again, picking up the pace so that the room fills with wet squelching noises and skin slapping.

The way he’s pushing onto your tummy while rubbing your clit, Jesus fuck… it’s intense. Makes it feel like he is inside of your stomach. So fucking deep.

Yup. That does it. The stagnant pressure starts building rapidly, he can feel it too. Your pussy starts tightening and fluttering beautifully around his girth. You’re making the prettiest noises, still quiet thanks to his fingers stuffed in your mouth but he can hear you the perfect amount.

God, it’s so perfect, he thinks.

You, you’re not thinking at all. He really is fucking you stupid. Your eyes are continuously rolling back and your hips buck into his thrusts desperately, quickly approaching your climax.

He flicks your clit back and forth, fast but precisely, “C’mon baby, give it to me. Fucking cum all over me. Make a mess. Ungh— god you’re such a fucking slut.”

And that sends you. Out of everything, something about Namjoon calling you a slut just fucking does it for you. You let out a muffled moan, that would be a scream most likely if his fingers weren’t sheathed into your mouth. Your legs tremble and your body shudders through the force of your orgasm.

Your pussy throbs violently, walls rippling around his cock as you finally see those stars. It feels fucking amazing, makes tears fall down your cheek. You can barely breathe because of the force of how fucking good it feels to cum on his cock.

This is his end too. He simply can’t hold back when he feels the vice grip of your pussy desperately trying to keep his cock in place, the rippling of your walls nearly feels like vibrations. He lets out another groan, but it almost comes out like a whine. Very subtly. His face is scrunched up and his mouth open as his hips stutter, his cock spilling and filling up the condom.

It goes on and on. Neither of you thinking about how much you hate each other, only thinking about how good it feels to be together like this. He swears he’s never had sex better than this. You feel the same.

The reality of it all is hate sex is unmatched. Especially when tensions build for so long and you both act as if you can’t stand each other… who knew a fuck could’ve helped with that?

At the last twitch of his cock, when your pussy becomes overstimulated and sore, he collapses on top of you. Both of you panting harshly, catching your breaths as your hearts beat in unison.

He removes his spit-covered fingers from your mouth, and he places lazy little kisses on your skin. He isn’t even sure where, too fucked out to pay attention, just anywhere he can reach while he rests on top of you. It’s an oddly tender gesture. A little sweet, even.

It’s silent for a few minutes. And you both start to realize what you’ve done. You just fucked your technical boss… he just fucked one of his co-writers.

Definitely shouldn’t have happened.

He can’t find himself regretting it though. He feels so light, that he could almost smile. As much of an excuse as it was at first, it genuinely helped with the tension. He’s not quite as irritated with you. Does he like you now? Fuck no.

But the more post-nut clarity comes to fruition… the more he thinks he can tolerate you. Maybe even work with you, compromise with you.

You on the other hand… you don’t know how to feel. You don’t regret it, because fuck, it did help with the tension. You feel lighter too. Not as sensitive. Not as hateful.

Maybe it was for the best. It’s not like anyone has to know, anyway. It’s like couples counseling sort of… except you’re definitely not a couple, and you both still cannot stand each other.

But you can tolerate each other now that most of the tension is gone for the time being.

“You good?”

He tears you away from your thoughts, and you look up at him with bleary eyes. It makes you feel sort of warm and fuzzy inside knowing despite his dislike for you, he’s still checking to make sure he didn’t cross any lines.

Well, he crossed several lines. But, you aren’t complaining. You’re glad he did. Glad he reduced you to this.

“I’m fucking great.”

That earns you a little chuckle. He sighs a breath of relief, was worried he went a bit too hard or did too much, especially since you didn’t set any boundaries beforehand. But you took what he gave you and you took it like a fucking champ, he thinks.

He reluctantly gets off of you because now that you’re both a bit more clear-headed, the couch feels a little too small, and he doesn’t wanna crush you.

His softening cock is still inside of you, so he braces a hand on the couch and slowly pulls out, both of you hissing at the feeling. He watches in awe as your juices flow freely out of you. God, what a pretty pussy, he thinks.

He dips a finger back into your heat, causing you to let out a little noise of surprise. But he removes it quickly, brings his finger up to his mouth and sucks it clean.

“Mmm. Yummy.” He says, wiggling his brows.

Ugh.

He pats your thigh before getting off of the couch, taking the condom off, and tying it up to chuck it in the trash. He stuffs his soft and sensitive cock back into his underwear and pulls up his pants, feeling utterly satiated now. Bubbly and light, even though he won’t show it. He makes his way to the little fridge in his studio and he grabs two bottles of water, tosses you one which you barely catch.

You gulp down the water gratefully, parched considering he stole most of your fucking spit. Asshole.

He begins walking into the bathroom attached to his studio as he says, “C’mon let’s go get cleaned up. Then we can look at those lyrics again and see if it still sounds like kids bop now that I’ve fucked you stupid.”

At your immediate glare, he lets out a laugh, and shrugs innocently, “What? Pussy is magic, can change a man’s mind about a lot of things. Now hurry up, you’re a fucking mess.”

And with that, he’s stepping into the bathroom.

Yeah. Fuck him. Still insufferable.

But god, you really do hope to fuck him again.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #bts namjoon #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #namjoon fanfic #smut #fiction #fanfic #kim namjoon fanfic #bts smut #namjoon smut #kim namjoon smut #faceclaim

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apocalypse-shuffle · 1 year

Text

RED HOOD | BATFAMILY (assorted canon)

────────────────────

“Long Overdue” (Jason Todd & Batmom!Reader) and (background Bruce Wayne x Batmom!Reader)

| Reader was with Bruce in the past but grew distant after Jason’s death. No one tells her when he comes back from the dead until Bruce is forced to bring her in on a raid when they’re overwhelmed. -Jason and Batmom!Reader reunion.

| SFW, canon typical action/violence, cursing?, crying?

| This is like half fanon half UTRH/Batman:Hush. I’m really just fucking around with canon rn. Also the pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic source - Batman: Three Jokers comic)

| 2k+ words

| parts: one, spurt, two, three, four, five, six/six point five, seven.

Ma. God, no one called you that anymore. The way your eyes begin to prickle is a clear indication.

With you Dick wasn’t the type. Once he’d worked himself up to it he’d called you mom; slightly different from the few ways he referred to his bio mother, but something shared between the two of you all the same.

And Tim? Well he wasn’t your child plain and simple. Tim still had his parents for one, and for two he was intrinsically Bruce’s. By the time he’d figured his way into the Batcave you’d been gone, most of your shit moved out of the manor, and desperately waving divorce papers Bruce refused to acknowledge in the air. You didn’t have anything to do with his indoctrination outside of exactly one instance of him finding you to ask if you’d reconsider the separation. Some Batman needed a Robin and Bruce Wayne needed his wife type shit.

Either way Tim didn’t call you any rendition of mom because you weren’t his. The most you got was him addressing you by your maiden name and then eventually your first and you were content with that.

Then if he didn’t call you mom, the girls sure as hell didn’t either. Outside of Barbara the others never even became regular conversation partners. Cass was a rare sighting in your life and Stephanie and you’s relationship would never progress past the casual advocacy you tried giving her because she was another dead Robin to add to what’s now technically a list.

At the end of the day, out of all the people who considered you a mother, only Jason added that ‘a’ and you wanted to grip that name tight and hold it to you. Break your ribs open and force it into your chest cavity. The need to fulfill that ache cuts deep and you take a step forward.

Jason startles though, undoing all his own forward progress, and you falter. That’s right. Jason didn’t like for people to touch him. Definitely didn’t like hugs either. Not surprise ones at least. Before his death you’d gotten close enough he didn’t mind when you swooped in, but now?

“Can I-? Can I hug you?” You press trembling lips together for another horrible swallow. “Please…?”

Jason jerks, two hastily aborted movements at once, before his obstructed voice meets your ears.

“Fine.”

You practically fall on him before pulling him into you. Unfortunately he’s just as stiff as his voice and you have to take a second to figure out how to slot against him.

Jason fits in your arms differently than he used to - broader and taller by a mile - but after a few beats he relaxes into them just the same. The subtle addition of weight makes a sob bubble up your throat.

You rap your knuckles on the side of the helmet.

“Take this shit off.”

He hesitates and a sharp pang manages to worm its way into the already shitty cocktail of emotions you’re feeling. It hits your spine like lightning, forces you up and has you an arms length away in half an inhale.

Maybe before now you’d been going through too much all at once for the trepidation to hit, but it was hitting now. You’d never seen Hood without- well without the Hood. Only Jumbie raised from the dead the way Jason did, and while you’d take your son anyway you could get him you wouldn’t accept some Thing parading around in his skin.

Reading your burst of movement for what it is, Jason backtracks, rising arms dropping to his sides. “Maybe I shouldn’t…”

“Jason Peter-” you inhale deeply, catching yourself, and hold a hand up to stop him. You both ignore the obvious way it trembles. “-only… if…if you want to. I’m not trying to force anything.”

He’s slow to nod, weight shifting from his left to his right leg and back again before he says something too low for you to hear. You’re about to ask him to repeat when he speaks up, this time aiming his voice somewhere around your shoulder while bowing his head.

“No, I- Alright. Just hold on.”

Haunches suitably raised and heart in your throat you pay close attention as the helmet comes up, Jason having released some catch in the back.

It goes over, the helmet clatters to the ground, and the man who stares back at you is…hard to place.

The low fluorescent lighting of the narrow room combined with the concrete walls casts soft enough shadows over his face that while his features are warped they’re not discernible. Which means you can’t completely rule out the uncanniness wafting off of him as just your brain (along with your entire perception of the universe) splinting in half.

It makes your face heat up. He looks familiar, but you can’t say you wouldn’t have passed him straight if you’d seen him on the street. He’s too big for one, even for how you’d all imagined he’d look grown up, standing more than a foot taller than the last day you saw him. Taller than malnourishment would’ve ever let him be.

The sob you let out makes you both flinch.

One hand snaps to your mouth, the other waving him off.

“I’m sorry I- I don’t-. This is just-”

Even with the way he’s leaning away from you he shakes his head. “I get it, it's fine.”

His voice is faint, cut up and hoarse like he hasn’t used it in a while, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve heard in ages.

“Oh,” you laugh. The wet kind that makes your throat sticky. You can only stare at him, blurry form and all, words lost to you.

Eventually, after watching your fervent effort to wipe away tears that are in no way inclined to give you a break, arms crossed Jason takes a half step forward with a shrug.

“We can…try again?”

The next little laugh you let out you practically choke on but you nod all the same.

When Jason’s the first to move your heart starts speeding away like an overexcited middle school drumline. You roll with it though, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes so they’re dry enough for you to actually see him clearly for a few seconds.

When he’s directly in front of you your hands come up slowly, giving him plenty of opportunity to move away. Or maybe to vanish.

When he does neither, only giving you a guarded look, you allow yourself to touch.

Problem is, the domino mask he’s wearing very quickly gets in your way and on your nerves when you move to frame his face. Quickly feels like if it’s not gone, if you can’t see his eyes, you’ll throw up.

To stop yourself from taking the risk and ripping it off you have to take a deep breath. Have to force down the thick build up of saliva gathering in your mouth so it pushes back the bile climbing up your throat.

“I’d like to see my son, Jason. All of you.”

To emphasize your point you tap the tip of your nail against the mask. There’s no intention on your part to cross his boundary but Jason’s hands snap up to hold onto your wrists all the same.

You look into the white lenses of his domino, fingers buzzing along the corner of the mask closest to them. His mouth twists into a frown.

“Please?”

You beg with the same ferocity a grieving mother once used when begging for her child back.

“You’re asking for a lot.”

He lets go and he takes a couple steps back and you don’t cry.

No, instead you swing your hands behind you. Clasping them together in a poor attempt to stop the buzzing sensation that travels from the tips of your fingers to take over your entire hand.

“Mmm,” you incline your head. “Well. I did help a boy get over first date jitters with a made up song once. Let that same boy talk me through an entire dissertations’ worth of his analysis of Their Eyes Were Watching God - as choppy as it was - because TWMS wouldn’t allow him to present it in class. Let him skip going to that same school and cry to me for hours after the death of Gloria Stanson. Remember a knife hidden in the corner on the highest shelf in his closet, and I remember not revealing any of that when I gave his eulogy because he once asked me to keep the important things between the two of us. So you don’t have to show me, but I think I make a pretty good qualifier when it comes to keeping this safe.”

You point straight to where his heart is tucked safely behind layers of gray armor before shrugging.

From the way his brows furrow over the domino you know he’s at least thinking about it so you step away to pick up your disregarded mask and stuff it in your waistband.

One blink. Six.

“You remember Rena?”

In front of him again, you rock back on your heels. “Mhm. And the ‘how to tie a tie’ lessons me and Bruce walked you through even though you didn’t wear a suit to that date. Remember that too.”

Jason’s smile is crooked on his face but it’s nonetheless present as he makes a noise of agreement.

“I’d just wanted to spend time with you two, I was never planning on wearing a suit to go to the skating rink.”

“We figured.”

You’re rolling onto the balls of your feet when that small smile drops and he shakes his head.

“I’m not that same boy anymore.”

You take in the way he could raise his hand and so easily touch the ceiling without having to jump. You clear the phlegm from your throat.

“I can tell.”

Jason grunts and makes a general gesture indicating something somewhere behind you.

“And I got no interest in trying to live up to whatever fucked up embalment Bruce’s got going on with my burnt suit in that case.”

That suit. Bruce’s memorial. His warning. Your breath hitches as you think of the smell of crisped blood and methanol. If Jason didn’t want to talk about it you sure as shit weren’t going to.

“I will one hundred percent take that into account.” You keep it simple, rocking on your heels again. He wasn’t asking for anything unreasonable so there wasn’t really any debate to be had. “You wanna be treated as you are? I can do that.”

Moments pass once you’ve said your peace where Jason does nothing but stare at you. The only indication he’s at all alive being his shoulders still moving - and you are watching. Eyeing that tell tale up and down like your own life will end at its falter. The pattern is slow enough to come off as pacivity but the time between each rise and fall is too measured to be uncontrolled. Exactly three point eleven seconds one way and three point eleven seconds the other. Every time.

Then he sighs, curses, and the little veil of dissolvent for the adhesive that adheres the mask to his face is in his hand. A different vial and color than when he was Robin; you don’t know why you thought it’d be the same. Or why it makes your heart clench that it’s not.

Between one thrum of the fluorescent lights and the next Jason is peeling away the domino, and you would be lying if you claimed to know where it disappeared to after that. Too caught up on what he’d been hiding to track it.

Blue. Nothing more and nothing less. Just blessedly familiar, vibrant blue. Not the dull gray they’d become by the time you were given the chance to put a gruesome sight of a child six feet under.

The “Oh wow,” tumbles from you without permission and then there’s zero hope for the waterworks you’d been holding back. The levee fails and you’re bawling before you know it. Barely holding back snot and who knows what else since you already feel like screaming.

At that point there’s no carefully thought out sentence for you to spew, no more hesitancy, no more measured breathing, and linear thought. Just the crushing need to have him close to you again.

You’re rushing forward before you know.

Wrapping your arms around Jason the next go around is both the best and the worst thing. You accommodate his new size faster, already writing over the ways he used to fit against you with the ways he does so now, but he’s still so stiff and he’s not reciprocating the hug either.

Maybe you should let go. You crossed the boundary too fast. Were too reckless. You literally have training on this and now you’re crowding him.

Okay, you’re pulling away. It’s a herculean effort but you’re forcing your arms from around his middle. You’ve got to, you don’t want to scare him off. Not when you just got him back.

There’s a soft “Not yet,” mumbled into your shoulder and then arms finally come around yours and you don’t hesitate to snap your own back into place.

He’s hugging you back.

You cry a little harder and bring one of your arms up to drape across his shoulders, pulling him closer. When you start rocking and Jason copies your momentum you press a kiss onto his temple.

“Hi,” you stutter out. Another sob. “Hi baby.”

Since he’s finally letting his arms wrap around you you don’t hesitate to run dark fingers through the truly unruly mass of black curls on his head. His hairs’ damp - most likely from sweat - but cool. Probably being tempered by the cold air blowing into the room.

It’s when you press a kiss to his forehead that you feel something else wet and your breath stutters.

“It’s okay. I got you, everything’s okay,” you whisper.

“God Ma-” his voice cracks and then you can hear the sobs he’s trying to muffle into your suit. “No it’s not.”

“I know,” you sob. “I’m sorry- so so fucking sorry.”

You sniffle and pull away to see him better. Jason’s face is flushed, his eyes wet, and cheeks streaked with tears shed. You hold your hands up to frame his face for a second time and run your thumbs through the tear tracks. His chest heaves as his body tries to regulate his breathing.

Jason clears his throat, gaze boring into yours. “Hi,” he says.

You smile, finally beginning to map out his face. First you move to frame his cheeks, too feel the warmth in them. To see if they still feel familiar. They don’t; you force yourself to accept that fact without letting it show in your expression, letting out a measured exhale before continuing. You find his jaw is more defined now too, cheeks devoid of the baby fat of five years prior.

From then on brushing your thumbs along his brows, over the bridge of his nose, traveling over his ears and skirting around his hairline - it all fills your mind with incoherent cheers.

Your thumbs hover over Jason’s eyes and you hum when he closes them for you.

The skin underneath your shaved off pads is soft. The thin layer of protection allows you to feel how his eyeballs shift, to see the way his veins show stark under light skin, to clock the life thrumming through him.

It makes your heart feel so goddamn light. You can’t stop smiling at the sight of him. Eyes still wet but clear.

“I feel like such a horrible mother,” you hiccup, hands slide down so you can once again cup his face. “I barely recognize you.”

Jason’s breathing shakes nearly in tandem with yours and his eyes squeeze tighter shut, head turning away.

“Don’t.” He takes a second to look up. Look right through you. Lashes wet and glassy eyes open, voice grating over his next words. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame any of you for that, but especially not you.”

What you want to do is argue. You should’ve never let him put on that suit in the first place, one fucked up son should’ve been the end of it. You should’ve dropped the case you were working the second you’d heard he’d run away and you should’ve found him. Instead you keep your thoughts personal, pinning them to your brain as if it’s a cushion so that you’ll never forget, and pull your son closer. An action which he allows, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you whisper into his hair. The way he instantly shakes his head makes the cool strands tickle your jawline.

“You can’t mean that.”

“If I didn’t mean it I wouldn’t have said it, Jay.”

Jason tenses before responding, words spewing without warning.

“Yeah except I’ve killed people, and I don’t regret it, and Bruce hates that - and you probably do too - but his way isn’t good enough. The people in this city deserve better so I’m doing what’s necessary-”

And that has you bristling. He must notice too because he stops short and edges away, face steeping. Caught somewhere between wanting to leave and wanting to fully kick start an argument.

…TBC

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! I had to split this bitch in two cause it was 5,000+ words and I’m not in the business of under-indulging myself.

Listen, I’ve looked into it. Every mother/mother figure Jason’s ever had he’s referred to as “Mom”, but me personally, I didn’t grow up addressing my own mother that way so I wanted to play around with “Ma” (differentiate a little). What's funny though, is that I’ve read Dick referring to his mother as both “Ma” and “Mom” so that’s fun.

• TWMS = Thomas Wayne Middle School

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it. this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

Tagged: @aarinisreading, @niphredil-14, @mxtokko, @calsjack, @brunnetteiwik

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entishramblings · 9 months

Text

The Scorpion of Sarn Ford [Aragorn/F!Reader]

A.N: the amount of weird shit I had to google for this….my FBI agent definitely thinks I’m planning some fucked up crap.

Inspired: this fic was inspired by @estelofrivendell ‘s fic A Change of Heart. I adored the Assassin/Ranger relationship and had to put my own spin on it!

Pairing: Aragorn X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Scorpion of Sarn Forn is a notorious assassin. Much to Strider’s dismay, they are both hired for a job.

Disclaimer: I tried my best with geography, once again, it isn’t my best subject. heh!

Word count: 8.2k (idk why I’m like this)

Warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, humor that will have you peeing, blood, torture, death, murder, brief insinuation to sexual abuse (side character), creepy men that get what's coming to them, a little bit of spice, brief shirtless aragorn. this sounds very dark but I promise you its good, besides: shirtless aragorn. duh.

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

Aragorn never thought he would be in this position. He never even anticipated such a scenario. It was, quite frankly, entirely unfathomable. Not once did it cross his mind that he might be in the same city as her, much less be forced to sit next to her at The Black Falcon Tavern and Inn with a potential contractor. You see, The Scorpion of Sarn Ford—or as Aragorn preferred to refer to her as: the heinous hellspawn that middle-earth would undoubtedly be far better off without—was a notorious assassin. She made her coin from slipping into the shadows and slaughtering her targets, leaving no trace besides a corpse—still warm from the blood that once ran through it. The men of the south-west were wise enough to be wary and the rich of such lands were stupid enough to empower her with their dark wishes. She’s rumored to have a body count in the hundreds, including kings and queens. Though, that is not how she acquired her title.

Percaric Rothswood, one of the richer dukes of Anfalas, sat with them at a table in the back of the tavern. The Ranger and the Scorpion occupied the bench alongside the wooden wall, granting them both a clear vantage point of the entire establishment, while Percaric sat in a chair across from them. Aragorn's arms were folded, a small blade discreetly nestled up his sleeve, and his ale remained untouched on the table. Yet, the assassin reclined casually at his side, her dark cloak draped loosely enough to unveil the myriad of weapons adorning her attire, with two empty pints before her and a third in her hand.

The peculiar grouping drew the attention of onlookers—it was indeed an unusual gathering, particularly with the presence of the infamous Scorpion of Sarn Ford, and her form specifically beside Strider. Nervous and inquisitive gazes, hushed conversations, subtle nods, and even more overt glances from passersby and bar-sitters were all directed towards the pair. If a meeting like this were to take place, something must be going down.

“So, what’s this job, Percaric, that requires a ranger and a shrew,” Aragorn gruffed, his scowl as deep as the sand pits of the eastern coast.

The woman beside him snorted. “A shrew. Just what a lady wants to be called.”

He shrugged. “An argumentative, ill-tempered rat. I see no difference between it and you.”

She raised a brow, twisting her head to look at him. “Technically a shrew is a mole.”

Aragorn sent her a glare in response.

She huffed at him. “A mole that will die if it doesn't eat every two to three hours.” She picked up her ale and took a swing. “That sounds nothing like me.”

“You reckon so? I bet if you didn't get new gold to chew on in that exact time frame you would also die of pompous deprivation.”

A deep chuckle escaped her throat as her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. She turned to quip back an insult; however, Percaric nervously interrupted the hostile hires.

“Well, uh, you see, it's quite a delicate matter. The-the job, that is. My client doesn't want his indiscretions aired out among the common folk because, well, uh, the matter is quite sensitive and—”

Aragorn rolled his eyes. “Just spit it out, Percaric.”

The man exhaled through his nose, nervously patting the table. “Right, right, very well then.” He cleared his throat. “Well, uh, my client, his daughter was taken by someone of high prestige and, well, he would like her back.”

Aragorn leaned back in the chair. “Why doesn't he just pay the ransom then? Instead of hiring someone to take her back. There is a ransom isn't there?”

“Of course, of course. But, well, you see, this daughter, ehem, she’s bastard-born. His wife doesnt know that she exists and he would like to keep it that way. Paying the ransom directly would cause too much attention. Like I said, he wants this discreet.”

Aragorn sighed, his morals pulling hard on his heart. “How old is the girl?”

Percaric winced. “Fourteen.”

The Ranger cursed under his breath. “She’s just a kid.”

“Yes, yes. Well, you see, that’s why my client asked for you, Strider. Not many would want to help a bastard daughter.”

The Scorpion leaned in. “Then why did he ask for me as well?”

Percaric’s face twitched. “Well, uh, Scorpion, there’s a matter a bit more delicate involved that requires your skill.”

She raised her brows.

“My–my client’s daughter is quite beautiful. Well, we can only assume what is being done to her by her captor during her stay. He, well, he wants the perpetrator killed.”

She snorted, leaning back into the wall behind her. “Why not make Strider here do it?”

The Ranger clenched his jaw. “He should be imprisoned, rotting in a cell for his crime.”

“Ah,” she started. “You would bring him in instead of kill him, and that would mean a trial.” She winked at Percaric. “Too public for this client of yours.”

An anxious and awkward giggle-like breath left the man’s lips. “Precisely.”

“So, where is she being kept?” The Scorpion asked.

The duke glanced around him before leaning in and letting his next sentence come out as a whisper. “The tower of Eastemnet.”

“Eastemnet?” Aragorn confirmed, wide-eyed and surprised. “But that would mean—”

“Lord Theovail,” the assassin interjected. “One of the richest, well-guarded men in Arda.”

Percaric bit his lip. “Yes, yes. Now, well, now you see why my client asked for you, Scorpion of Sarn Ford.”

Aragorn huffed, hot air coming from his nose, as he shook his head—now finally reaching for his ale. “We will take the job,” he stated reluctantly.

“Oi! Not so fast,” the assassin interjected. “What’s the pay?”

The Ranger shot her a glare. “A girl, a child, is being held prisoner, and you worry of pay?”

She glared right back at him before turning back to Percaric. “The pay?”

He cleared his throat. “Three hundred pieces of gold up front and another three hundred upon your return of the girl, alive, and proof of Theovail’s death. Though you will have to split it, I’m afraid.”

She raised her hands with a tilt of the head. “Fine by me.” She turned, flashing a devilish grin to the man next to her. “Let us go hunt a girl-snatching arsewipe, Strider.”

He offered no-response other than a scowling side eye.

“Fantastic,” Percaric replied, taking two coin pouches out and plopping them on the table.

The assassin was quick to snatch up one of the bundles, standing, ready to take her leave.

Aragorn, however, let his finger drift over the coin. He glanced up at Percaric. “What’s her name?”

The man’s expression softened. “Calista, daughter of Lord Kassim.”

Aragorn nodded, grasping onto the pouch. “We will bring Calista home.”

……

The pair had been traveling for approximately two weeks at this point, and their interactions during this time were characterized by sparse conversations intertwined with numerous glares and disdainful expressions. In those few moments when words were exchanged, they were often heated disagreements concerning which path to follow, strategies for infiltrating the tower, or debates over the responsibilities of meals. It was, quite frankly, the most miserable trek across Arda that Aragorn had ever taken upon. But it wasn't until they were passing through the gap of Rohan, between the Misty Mountains and Ered Nimrais, that they met any trouble.

An arrow, coming from the mountain’s rocky side, whizzing past Aragorn’s ear was the first sign of danger.

He whipped his head around. “Scorpion!” he called out in warning, his eyes meeting the assassin’s for a brief moment.

She drew her dual silver blades only seconds before a small pack of goblins began descending. She was quick to behead the first goblin whose feet hit the grassy pass they walked through.

“Goblin’s from the Mountains,” she hissed.

Aragorn too drew his sword. “They shouldn't be this far south! They stay up near Ehu Daur and Moira!” He drove his blade through one of the beasts, swinging around to slice another.

“Well, clearly, they dont give a fuck as to where they should or should be!” The Scorpion quipped back as she brought one of her blades through the neck of one of the creatures. “On your left!”

Aragorn twisted his body just in time to block a blow from a rusted scythe.

The assassin dodged the next beast that came at her and sprinted towards the biggest one. She was quick to push herself into the air, flip over the goblin, and slice its throat before her feet even landed on the ground.

She looked up to see the two final goblins, one in match with her companion and the other approaching his back.

The woman moved quickly. Her feet carried her towards the beast who held its blade above Strider’s head. Just before it was to be brought downward, she yelled out a war cry and grasped onto the few hairs the creature had. She yanked hard. The goblin fell backwards onto the ground and she pounced on top of him, sending her blade through his heart—his pungent blood spraying across her face, neck, tunic, and leather armor.

With heavy panting breath, she stood and turned to face the Ranger who had slayed the final beast. Kicking the corpse of the one she had just killed, she spoke. “Only nine. A scouting team. More will be coming upon their lack of return. We gotta get a move on.”

Aragorn’s lips were parted in surprise, realizing that he nearly lost his life. Surprising the assassin, he spoke words that she never would have thought to leave his lips for her. “Thank you, Scorpion.”

She raised her brows. “I have a name, you know, Strider.”

The Ranger turned away from her, continuing along their path. “I don't care to know it,” he gruffed out, his brief sincerity from moments before disappearing.

She snorted, calling out to him regardless. “It’s (Y/N).”

“Don’t fall behind, Scorpion,” he replied.

She huffed, her irritation obvious, before jogging to catch up with his wide strides. “I don’t like you very much either, but if we're gonna be on this job for a while, you could at least not be a dick.”

“Coming from the rudest and most corrupt person I have ever met, that's rich.”

She chuckled loudly. “Wow. Rude, okay, I deserve that. But corrupt? That’s a bit far-fetched.”

He stopped walking, twisting to glower down at her with disgust. “You truly think so? Let’s talk of why they attach the massacre of Sarn Ford to your name. You killed dozens. Women. Children. Innocents. All for what? Gold! Corrupt is too kind a word for you. Wicked, diabolical, vicious is more like it.”

(Y/N)’s brows shot upward as a pained and frustrated laugh thundered in her chest. “Really? Do you even know what was happening in Sarn Ford?!”

“They were farmers! Common folk! Living off the land in peace and you…you slaughtered them!” he yelled.

She got in his face, her hot, angry breath burning against his skin. “THEY WERE ALREADY GOOD AS DEAD, STRIDER!”

“How could you even say that?” he replied, horrified.

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, before focusing back on the man before her. “A disease was making its way through their village. Incurable. Painful. An alchemist, who had been working for weeks to try and find anything to help them, hired me. There was nothing to be done for them except extend a hand of mercy. To give them a good, painless death.”

Aragorn stared at her, his brows pulled together with shock in his gaze.

The assassin clenched her jaw. “I had mothers plead with me to end their child's life while cradled in their arms, only to follow them into death. At least, that way, they could die together.” She looked up at him, her tone privy with rage. “So, yes, Strider, feel free to bestow upon me any epithet you see fit."

He was silent, his shock radiating into the wind around him. Quietly, he spoke again, “How did you not get sick?”

She exhaled slowly. “The alchemist instructed me to wear cloth over my face and cover all skin but my eyes. Once the deed was done, I burned everything I wore and paid for new clothes with gold born of their suffering.”

Aragorn nodded slowly, compassion in his gray eyes. “I am sorry. Doing such a thing mustn't have been easy. It was an execution of mercy.” He turned, continuing once more. “Though the tales of your other kills aren't so kind. Come along, Scorpion. There’s a town a couple days ahead.”

(Y/N) snorted, anger seething in her bones, but followed him nonetheless.”

…..

The pair strode towards the Inn, located not far from Gondor’s borders. They forcefully pulled the door open, unveiling a noisy uproar of laughter and boisterous shouting, mingling with the lovely odors of urine, sweat, and stagnant ale. Creating such an environment, one the Scorpion and Ranger were used to, were the disheveled bodies of inebriated men.

With a mischievous grin, (Y/N) expertly navigated through the crowd, leading Strider to a secluded table nestled in a dim corner. It wasn't long before the arrival of steaming platters of meat and bread arrived, along with two pints of foamy ale, both of which they heartily devoured. The Scorpion raised her hand, beckoning the barmaid over and placing an order for two more pints—both of which she downed, much to Aragorn's evident disapproval.

After releasing a loud belch, she casually swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, then rose to her feet. “Gonna go get some air,” she grumbled, her balance momentarily unsteady as she gained her footing. Aragorn, in response, merely offered an exasperated roll of his eyes.

The assassin maneuvered through the bustling throng of men, slipping through the sea of people before pushing through the doors. The sudden rush of frigid tranquility enveloped her skin as she stepped into the embrace of the night. With a deliberate intake of breath, she allowed the crisp air to fill her lungs. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she tilted her head upwards, letting the misting drizzle of rain kiss her skin. The sound of the tavern was muffled, and the echoes of the celebration they passed down the road drifted into the air. Though it was subtle, for it didn't drown out the sounds of the singing crickets or the croaking frogs. It was peaceful. Well, that is until a form slammed into her and pressed her against the wall.

The smell of ale-laden breath and sticky sweat filled her nostrils as her eyes shot open. Her gaze, fueled by adrenaline, locked onto the burly figure before her—a man with a rugged orange beard—who had forced himself upon her.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone in a dangerous place like this?” he asked, a knife held to her throat.

She snarled up at him. “Oh, you're about to find out—”

Before she could make a move, however, the man was suddenly struck from the side, his body sent sprawling onto the weathered, muddy path.

As (Y/N) peeled herself from the wall, her hand instinctively reached for the slight gash on her neck. Meanwhile, the bearded man found himself seized by the throat, forcefully hoisted upward, and pressed hard against the unyielding stone.

“Do you even know who that is?” Strider uttered sharply.

A chuckle escaped the lips of the man, his bloodied lip spraying a fine mist of red onto Aragorn's face. “You’re whore?” he sneered.

With an unrelenting grip on the man's throat, Aragorn pulled him several inches away from the wall, only to slam him back against it once more. The impact elicited a grunt from the man. "The Scorpion of Sarn Ford," Aragorn hissed through clenched teeth, his voice seething with restrained fury.

The assailant’s laughter was dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah and I'm the fuckin’ King of Gondor.”

The Ranger clenched his jaw, ignoring the secret dig the man's comment produced. “You know why they call her that? Hmm. The Scorpion? Scorpions incapacitate their prey with venom, paralyzing them before they deal the final blow. That woman over there? She severs her targets’ spinal nerve, rendering them unable to move before subjecting them to her torture and kill. And the worst part? She doesn't even need them paralyzed. She gets off from witnessing the terror in their eyes as they're rendered helpless.”

Another laugh escaped the man, but as his gaze shifted towards (Y/N), his amusement faded. The assassin now held a dagger, twirling it in her fingers, a sinister grin stretching across her features.

He turned to look back at Aragorn, the color now drained from his face. “Ye’ c-cant be serious,” he stammered.

The Ranger merely lifted his brows and tilted his head.

Driven by desperation to escape the woman beside them, the man started to shove against Aragorn. However, a single forceful punch to his jaw rendered him unconscious, his body collapsing onto the mud once more.

“I had it handled,” the assassin stated.

Aragorn shot her a stern glare before responding bluntly, "Sure, you did."

The woman emitted a snort, yet settled into a squat beside the man, her dagger poised.

The Ranger, however, was quick to grab her by the wrist, successfully stopping her actions. "Are you out of your mind? We can't kill him. That's the last thing we need – drawing attention to ourselves."

With a huff of mild exasperation, she sheathed her blade. "Fine." She then nodded to the black horse tethered nearby, gesturing with a nod. "That's his horse. Saw him dismount as we entered. Bring it here."

Aragorn frowned, confused, but did as she asked.

“Alright,” she stated, gathering the man’s arms in her hands. “Help me with his legs.”

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“Strider, just grab his damn legs.”

Exhaling audibly, the Ranger complied, reluctantly gripping the man's ankles. With a coordinated heave, they hoisted the man up from the muck. After a few groans and sighs, he was draped over his horse's back.

The Scorpion then took the leather strapping of the saddle and began binding the man’s hands and feet to it. She nodded to the young maple tree behind the Ranger. “Get me a large twig from that. Bout a foot tall. Keep the leaves on it.”

“What?” he hissed, his hands spreading wide in a gesture of bewilderment.

“Strider, would you just get the branch,” she urged impatiently.

Another loud, reluctant exhale left his lips, yet he trudged toward the tree and pulled off what she requested. He approached her, holding out the twig.

“Ah, thank you,” she acknowledged with a grin, accepting it from him.

With that she moved to the side of the horse, close to the man's legs. She seized the waistband of his trousers and gave it a yank, reaving his bare ass.

“Scorpion,” Aragorn chided.

Undeterred, she grinned, sticking the small branch between his ass cheeks so it stood upright, its leaves rustling faintly in the breeze.

“Seriously?” he gruffed out, his arms crossed.

(Y/N) looked at him with a wicked smirk. “You hear that party still going on down the road? I think they would appreciate some impromptu entertainment.” With that, she smacked the horse's rear and, with a brisk snort, it took off down the path.

Not even a minute passed, when they heard the shouts of anger and amusement funneling from the gathering.

Strider turned to glare at her, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning with irritation. He grasped onto her bicep and pulled her towards the doors. "Get inside the damned tavern, quickly."

A loud, hearty laugh flew from her throat, yet she allowed him to pull her along.

Engulfed once again in the clamorous atmosphere of the inn, Aragorn wasted no time in steering her towards the bar. “You can't just put a branch up the arsehole of a person that pisses you off,” he hissed under his breath.

She grinned unapologetically. “Sure, I can.”

He blew hot air out his nose, opting to withhold a retort. With a determined demeanor, he maneuvered them through the crowd of men, navigating as close to the counter as he could get. "Barkeep," he called out, projecting his voice. "Two room keys."

The man approached them with a shrug. “Only got one room left.”

Aragorn huffed. “Fine. Well take it.”

With that, the Ranger deposited three gold coins into the man's palm, secured the key, and then swiftly tugged the Scorpion alongside him as they grabbed their bags and ascended the creaky wooden staircase.

They approached their door, marked the same as the key, and it swung open under Aragorn’s touch. Within, the room exuded a chill darkness, accompanied by a faint draft slipping in through the slightly cracked window. The space appeared quite sparse, furnished with nothing but a small dresser, a modest table accompanied by two chairs...and a solitary bed.

A muttered curse escaped the Ranger's lips as he unceremoniously dropped his bag onto the table. "I'll take the floor."

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Really, Strider? It’s the one night we get the option of having a bed. As long as you stay on your side, I don't mind sharing.”

“Fine,” was his gruff response.

With that, the pair began getting comfortable for the night. Aragorn lit the worn down candle, its feeble golden glow illuminating the area, proving slightly better light as he dug through his bag. Meanwhile, (Y/N) shed her cloak and vast assortment of weapons, earning a skeptical glance from the Ranger. Yet, when she began to unfasten the tightly-worn leather armor that clung to her figure, his reaction was far more dramatic. "What on earth is that stench?!" he blurted out, recoiling.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Remember those goblins? Yeah, I got an unexpected bath in their blood.”

“That was days ago. You reek,” he retorted. He strode over to the dresser, opening drawers until he came across a gray towel. Returning to the table, he picked up the pitcher beside the candle and gradually poured water into a small basin, also provided. After submerging the towel and wringing it out, he flung the damp cloth towards her, which she easily caught. “Clean yourself up.”

She shrugged once more. Turning away, she shed her shirt and let it drop to the floor. Her swift movements were focused as she wiped her face, neck, and chest, cleansing her skin of the grime that clung to it.

Though Aragorn didn't intend to look, his gaze inadvertently flicked towards her silhouette against the wall. It was then that his eyes fixed upon her bare back, adorned with a network of vivid, angry scars. He’d seen scars like that. He knew what they were from: torture.

“(Y/N),” he whispered sincerely, his steps leading him closer to her form. “What happened?”

Hearing her name for the first time from his lips, she was caught off guard—her heart skipping a beat. The simple utterance carried an unexpected weight, a rare vulnerability that seemed to momentarily freeze her in place. Uncertainty gripped her as she stood still, her mind racing to process the unfamiliar tone from him.

His touch was tender as he raised his hand to trace the lines on her skin. “Who did this to you?” he growled.

Brought back to the present, she instinctively recoiled from his touch. "I'm an assassin. I've earned my fair share of enemies," she replied, her voice tinged with defiance. Shifting her gaze over her shoulder, she met his eyes. "Have an extra shirt? Mine's beyond saving."

"I, uh, yes. Yes, of course," Aragorn responded, seeming to realize the sudden intimacy of the moment. He retreated to his bag, rifling through its contents until he procured a cream-colored tunic. He tossed it to her. "This should suffice."

“Thanks,” she grumbled, pulling it over her head.

(Y/N) approached the table, the Ranger's shirt engulfing her smaller frame. The fabric's loose drape hung off her shoulder. If she wasn't such a menace, Aragorn would have thought that she looked cute in his clothes.

Ungracefully, she deposited the damp towel on the tabletop before proceeding to yank off her boots and socks, placing them with a deliberate thud upon the chair nearby. “We are not that far from the tower of Eastemnet. Perhaps a two day journey or so. However, our predicament remains unchanged: we don't have a solid strategy. We don't have any floor plans. We don't know how many guards will be stationed. And we don't know where the girl is being kept. We are gonna be going in blind—”

“You’re bleeding,” he interjected, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of concern.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just a scratch,” she dismissed casually.

Aragorn grasped onto her jaw, lifting her chin up to take a better look. "A seemingly insignificant wound could easily become infected, Scorpion," he asserted, his tone insistent.”

She pulled her head from his grasp with a snort. “I’m fine, Strider.”

He crossed his arms, an unyielding resolve in his expression. “If we are breaking into Lord Theovail’s tower and stealing from him, I'd prefer my partner not succumb to infection-induced delirium, potentially endangering both our lives." Swiftly, he nudged the empty chair towards her. “Now, sit down, Scorpion.”

(Y/N)’s brows lifted, followed by a teasing expression that animated her features. “Oh? So I'm your partner now?” she quipped, her tone laced with playful amusement. "What happened to the 'vicious shrew killer that you would rather leave tied to a tree,' as I seem to recall you once calling me?"

He glared at her. “Sit, or I will leave you tied to a tree.”

Surprisingly, she did as he asked, allowing herself to sink into the chair with her legs casually sprawled and her arms folded tightly across her chest. Aragorn dug through his bag, pulling out a couple small tins and a tiny glass bottle. Grasping the towel, he located a clean section and dipped it into the basin. Squatting down between her legs, he lifted the towel to her neck. "Chin up," he instructed, and she obeyed without protest. Gently, he began cleansing the wound, meticulously removing dirt and debris from the area. Next, he uncapped the small glass bottle. "This might sting," he warned.

She clenched her jaw, but said nothing as the alcohol was poured upon her neck. Aragorn gently dabbed the liquid away. He then opened one of the small tins, extracting a dollop of green goo.

“What is that shit?” (Y/N) asked.

“Athelas leaf paste.”

“Athelas leaf?” she echoed, seeking further clarification.

“Kingsfoil. Athelas is the elvish word for it,” he replied simply, his attention focused on gently applying the paste to the wound.

She raised her eyebrows. “Elvish, huh. You're full of surprises, Strider. Where’d ya learn that?”

“Shush. Be still.”

The Scorpion rolled her eyes, but complied as he completed the task.

Standing up, Aragorn rinsed his hands and addressed her once more. "We can devise a plan for the tower tomorrow. Right now, we need rest."

(Y/N) sighed, nodding in agreement, as she too stood. She made her way towards the bed and pulled back the thin sheet, eager to climb into the softness of a mattress—regardless of how old and worn it was.

The gentle sound of air extinguishing the candle was succeeded by the enveloping darkness that reclaimed the room. Soon, Aragorn’s footsteps followed. She discerned the rustle of fabric as, presumably, he removed his shirt. The bed then creaked gently as he settled beside her, lying on his back.

She, resting on her side away from him, let her eyes close. There she laid, for a moment, before shifting. Then she shifted again. And again.

“Stop moving, Scorpion,” Aragorn grumbled, his patience waning.

“I can’t get comfortable!” she retorted.

“That’s because you keep moving.”

“It’s cold and you're stealing all the blankets.” With a determined tug, she seized more of the fabric, leaving Aragorn with a minimal share.

He merely exhaled audibly, opting for a wordless response. At the very least, she had ceased her constant fidgeting.

Aragorn remained awake during the initial hours, unable to find slumber. (Y/N)'s breathing had swiftly settled into a rhythmic pattern after she commandeered the majority of the sheets, though her small unconscious movements kept interrupting the perceived tranquility. Occasional, soft whimpers escaped her lips, her brows furrowing with evident distress. In truth, Aragorn found himself uncertain of how to respond. He held onto the hope that the disturbances would cease on their own, perhaps that whatever troubled her dreams would eventually pass. And eventually, it did stop, but not without an unexpected turn of events.

The Ranger's senses jolted as the Scorpion’s frigid form rolled towards his side of the bed, seeking refuge in his warmth. Although she had mentioned feeling cold earlier, the intensity of her chill surprised him. The wave of uncertainty that washed over him did not leave as her cheek pressed against his bare chest. Initially, the thought of infection taking hold crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it; her skin would have been hot to the touch if that were the case. It only took seconds for him to realize that the draft from the cracked window was striking her side directly. With a sigh of reluctance, he tentatively encircled his arm around her, drawing her in further.

In her state of deep slumber, she instinctively nestled into him, drawing a slight skip from Aragorn's heart. He cast a cautious gaze downward, taking in her appearance.

She seemed so different—distinctly separate from the notorious assassin he knew her to be. There was an innocence, an unexpected purity, about her in this moment that rendered her almost unrecognizable. Gone was the perpetual scowl that often marked her features. Instead, her face had relaxed into a gentle expression of repose, free from the tension. Her lips, adorned with the faintest hint of a pout, moved slightly as she drew each breath, almost as if he warded off the nightmares that had plagued her.

In this vulnerable state, the Scorpion seemed untainted by her reputation, stripped of her fearsome persona. The layers of her identity, usually shrouded in crude comments and sharp weapons, had fallen away. It revealed that the facade that she showed the world was just that, a facade. A good one at that though. Even Aragorn—a man well-acquainted with the intricacies of human nature—hadn't thought it would be a mask; but her story of Sarn Ford was the first thing that revealed its possibility to him. It was as if the walls she kept built had crumbled away, allowing him a glimpse of the person beneath the lies. And, until sleep claimed him, he allowed himself to savor this glimpse—to see her beyond the assassin.

When the first light of dawn began to filter in, (Y/N) stirred, wrapped in the warmth and safety that had cocooned her during the night. She hesitated to peel open her eyelids, savoring the sensation. However, as her senses roused to full awareness, a gentle yet distinct rhythm reached her ears—the steady thud of a heart beating beneath her. In an instant, her eyes shot open, and a surge of apprehension raced through her.

Beneath her, Strider's form lay, his chest rising and falling in slumber. Anxiety tightened her chest and clawed at her throat. Reacting instinctively, she sat up abruptly and, fueled by adrenaline, threw a punch at him.

A resounding groan of pain escaped his lips as he scrambled to sit up, his expression twisting in both surprise and discomfort. "What the hell, Scorpion?!" he managed to sputter, his hand instinctively reaching to dab at his lip.

“I thought I told you to stay on your side of the bed!” she retorted sharply.

He glared at her, his irritation obvious. “I did. If you would take a moment to observe your surroundings, you would see you are in fact on my side of the bed.”

Wide-eyed and perplexed, she twisted her upper body around, casting a glance over her shoulder. As the reality of the situation dawned on her, she faced him once more. Her eyes filtered over his form briefly, taking in his muscled biceps and defined abs. Her expression then turned into a deeper scowl. “Fuck off!” she snapped.

He only stared at her, bewildered.

….

Under the shroud of darkness, the Ranger and the Assassin stood at the base of the tower of Eastemnet on the south side. Concealed within the protective embrace of the tree line, they had spent approximately three hours observing the guards' patterns and identifying vulnerabilities in the tower's defenses. There they had hidden two steeds that (Y/N) had procured for them at the inn—most likely through theft, though Aragorn didn't want to think of that—allowing for a quick escape with Calista. Strategically, they discreetly knocked out all the guards on the outposts, binding and gagging them, for they knew the element of surprise would be their only bet. So, now they stood, with a pretty loose plan, ready to steal back what Lord Theovail had taken.

The Scorpion grasped onto the vine that entwined itself along the stone surface of the tower. A swift, assessing tug confirmed its stability. Her gaze shifted briefly to the man positioned behind her. “About two hundred feet to the top. Best guess, that’s where Calista is being held.”

He nodded. “After you.”

The Scorpion adjusted her grip upon the vine and she initiated her ascent. Aragorn doing the same only minutes after.

They moved in a synchronized rhythm, the sound of their breaths and the faint rustling of vines mingling with the night's stillness. Each handhold and foothold was chosen with precision, the texture of the stone under their fingertips guiding their progress.

(Y/N)’s movements were fluid and practiced, evidence to her agility and experience. Her lithe form seemed to dance with the contours of the tower, making it look easy. Aragorn, not as accustomed to such endeavors, displayed a determination that rivaled his unease. His powerful muscles flexed and strained as he pulled himself upward, his eyes never straying far from the path she took.

After what felt like hours, the assassin spoke. “Nearly there, just a couple more feet.”

Aragorn only grunted in response.

The woman firmly gripped the vine adjacent to the windowsill, positioning her feet against the wall in a manner resembling a vertical walk. This facilitated her upward movement as she pulled herself closer to the window. Yet, as her head reached the level of the glass, she swiftly withdrew, instinctively lowering herself. In an unfortunate circumstance, the unconventional stance she maintained resulted in her ass colliding with Aragorn's face.

He groaned. “Really, Scorpion?! Really?!”

“My bad,” she huffed out. “Hold on a second. I think someone is in there.”

“Yeah, hopefully Calista.”

She resumed her ascent, then promptly lowered herself again. This time, Aragorn effectively maneuvered his head to the side, evading her buttocks.

Regardless of this, he shot her a glare—not that she would be able to see it.

“It was a maid.” she whispered. “I think we are in the clear now.”

With that, she heaved herself up for a final time and reached for the dagger strapped to her thigh. “Duck your head,” she commanded. With as much force as she could muster, she brought the blade against the glass, tucking her face into her elbow. It shattered, falling around them both like deadly snow.

The Scorpion pulled herself upward and through the window, careful not to be pierced by any stray piece of glass, and Aragorn did the same.

The room was small, but decorated to the extreme. The prominent feature was the bed, elevated upon a platform, its tall wooden posts adorned with a luxurious velvet canopy that cascaded in graceful drapes. The mattress was covered in ornate blankets and quilts, complemented by an array of plush pillows. However, any semblance of beauty was starkly contradicted by the grim sight of chains extending from the wall and ensnaring the wrists of a young girl, shattering the room's facade of luxury.

Immediately, Aragorn ran towards her side. “Calista,” he murmured gently. “Wake up. It’s time to go.”

Calista's golden hair framed a face that appeared worn and defeated. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing a gaze void of life. Her voice emerged as a feeble whisper. "Who are you?" she inquired softly.

Standing steadfast in the center of the room, (Y/N) maintained her posture with crossed arms. Her unwavering gaze fixed on the imposing wooden door that likely remained locked from the other side. “Your father sent us.”

Aragorn carefully manipulated the cuffs that bound Calista's wrists, gingerly freeing her from their constricting hold. "I'm Strider," he introduced himself, his fingers working skillfully. "We're here to help. Come.”

As if entranced, Calista began to sit up, struggling to rise from the bed. Aragorn extended his support, assisting her onto the floor. However, her weak frame proved too fragile to sustain itself. She leaned unsteadily against him, her body unable to bear its own weight.

The Ranger looked to his partner. “She’s too weak. There's no way I can scale down the wall with her on my back. She won't have the strength to hold on."

The Scorpion uttered a quiet curse. “You will just have to come with me to find Theovail.”

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. We can't bring her near him.”

“Well, we don't have any other choice,” she snapped. “But as soon as I kill him, we will have to haul ass. His guard will be coming for us then—if they don't already know we are here.”

Aragorn clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply. “Fine. Get that door open.”

With that, the Scorpion set to work picking the lock and Aragorn scooped Calista up in his arms, her golden head nestled into his chest. It wasn't long before the group was creeping down the tower, level by level. The Scorpion led the way, ducking behind walls and maneuvering around pillars, making sure the way was clear. When they came across a guard that was blocking their escape, she was quick to slice his throat and pull his body out of sight.

“Scorpion, why you can't just knock them out?” Aragorn whispered with exasperation.

She, dropping his legs as she stuffed him into a closet, glared at him. “And risk having him wake up and alert others? I think not."

He huffed, knowing she was right.

However, their path forward soon encountered a challenge they couldn't evade as easily. Just as they were on the verge of turning a corner, a young maid's panicked voice pierced the air. “The-the girl. She’s gone!”

(Y/N) slammed her back against the stone wall, Aragorn doing the same.

“What do you mean ‘she’s gone’??!” A deep male voice thundered.

A shared realization passed between (Y/N) and Aragorn—Lord Theovail had now entered the fray.

“FIND HER!” he snapped. “Or it will be your head!”

The servant scurried down the hall, running right past the Ranger and Assassin who slunk into the shadows with their charge.

(Y/N) cautiously peered around the corner. The room before them was every bit as lavish as the one that had imprisoned Calista, if not more so. A roaring fire crackled in the grand fireplace, casting flickering shadows that danced across the two plush velvet couches by it. Luxurious fur blankets adorned each sofa, hinting at Theovail’s rich indulgence. A sprawling fur carpet lay before the fireplace, while an ornate wine cart laden with deep reds was conveniently placed nearby. And there, infuriated, stood Lord Theovail himself, a glass of crimson liquid in hand, his temper fuming. To make matters worse, his guards were positioned near the room's exit—the very door that Aragorn would need to pass through in order to escape with Calista.

The Scorpion drew her knife, sending Aragorn a look. It was time. In a hushed tone, she whispered to him. “When you hear it’s over, take her and run to the doors. I'll be right behind you.”

He nodded in agreement.

She then disappeared into the shadows. Not even a minute passed before Aragorn heard the thumping of two bodies, one right after the other, followed by the telltale crash of a shattering wine glass meeting the floor.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Lord Theovail’s voice thundered, a mix of surprise and outrage lacing his words.

Aragorn cautiously peered around the corner, his heart pounding. Lord Theovail was now a whirlwind of fury and frustration, his gaze darting in every direction and a knife clutched in his hand. “I am not one to indulge in games!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber as he brandished the blade. “Reveal yourself, you coward!”

Within seconds, the Scorpion’s blade was poised menacingly at Lord Theovail's throat, her grip firm and unwavering as she held him in check from behind. Her voice dripped with a sinister malice as she spoke, her words slithering through the air like a venomous serpent. “Lord Kassim sends his regards.”

A broad chuckle bubbled from Theovail's lips, mingling with a mix of disbelief and arrogance. “A woman?! Kassim sends a woman to kill me?!”

Aragorn watched as the assassin drew another blade from her lethal arsenal, the steel glinting in the dim light. He winced inwardly, knowing what was about to unfold. In one swift, calculated motion, the Scorpion's blade found its mark, slicing deeply into Theovail's spine. The lord's body crumpled to the floor, staining the pristine white fur carpet with a gruesome red pool. His once-commanding presence now reduced to stillness. Though his eyes, wide and drifting in panic, showed his fear.

She then sat on top of him, bringing the blade to his neck once more. The Scorpion's lips curled into a chilling grin, her eyes alight with a dark satisfaction. “Not just any woman. You ever hear of The Scorpion of Sarn Ford?”

Instantly, a tidal wave of horror engulfed Theovail's blue gaze, his previously defiant demeanor shattered like the fragile glass of Calista’s window.

He knew the legend. He knew there was no escape for him.

However, at that moment, a large, burly guard burst in. Seeing what was unfolding, he was at his Lord’s assistance in a flash. His hand grasped onto the assassin’s hair, yanking her form from Theovail.

Aragorn clenched his jaw, giving her a moment before he intervened.

The collision sent shards of glass and splintered wood flying as the guard and the Scorpion crashed into the wine cart, locked in a fierce struggle. The guard, towering in his size, managed to regain his footing first and hauled the Scorpion up with him. His meaty fists struck out, landing brutal blows that drew crimson from her nose and brow.

The Ranger cursed. Quickly, he sat Calista upon the ground and rushed to his partner's aid. Unsheathing his blade, he lunged into the fray. His sword found its mark in the guard's back, the steel emerging through the man's stomach. Time seemed to freeze as the guard's bloodied gaze locked with the Scorpion's, a moment charged with shock and shared disbelief. The guard crumpled to the ground, revealing Aragorn.

With a swift motion, Aragorn twisted his blade downward and reached out to grasp the Scorpion's face, his hands marked by a blend of relief and fear. The touch, both tender and urgent, brought her gaze to his. Blood marked one cheek, while the other felt the cool press of his blade's hilt against her skin. His deep voice, a mixture of anxiety and care, called out her name. "(Y/N)," he stated, the word a lifeline that pierced through her dazed state.

"(Y/N)," he spoke once more, the urgency remaining. “Are you alright?”

She blinked, forcing a response. “Yes, yes. I'm fine.”

Aragorn released a sigh of relief, yet his hand remained for another heartbeat, a reassurance in the form of touch. "Take care of Theovail. I will get Calista," he instructed, his hands finally and reluctantly withdrawing as he moved to tend to their young charge.

The rest was a blur: (Y/N) slicing Theovail’s throat and grabbing his ruby ring, Aragorn hauling Calista into his arms, and the trio racing down the tower's corridors—fending off any obstacle that dared to stand in their path. Adrenaline drove them to the treeline, panting breath heavy and loud, as they climbed upon their horses and took off into the night—leaving behind the bloody assassination of the Lord of the Eastemnet Tower.

…..

Weeks later, at three in the morning, the trio stumbled into The Black Falcon Tavern, where they first met with Percaric. The establishment was eerily quiet, save for the slumbering figure of the barkeep, who had succumbed to the late hour with his head on the counter. At the far end of the room, Percaric and Calista's mother stood, their figures illuminated by a flickering candle on the table. An air of anxious anticipation clung to the atmosphere.

As soon as their feet crossed the threshold, that stillness was disturbed. Calista's voice pierced the quiet as she called out to her mother, her strength visibly renewed since the ordeal. Without hesitation, mother and daughter closed the distance between themselves, embracing as if they had been torn apart for eternity. Tears flowed freely, mingling sorrow with joy. The warmth of their reunion dispelled the darkness that had clouded their lives.

Percaric approached the Scorpion and the Ranger.

The assassin tossed the man Lord Theovail’s ring. “Proof of death,” she stated bluntly. “I was gonna bring you his head, but figured it would smell pretty rotten after the long journey.”

He nodded awkwardly, the thought making him feel ill. He took a quick moment to examine the ring. Seemingly satisfied, he spoke. “You did well. Lord Kassim sends his thanks.” He then tossed them both pouches of gold before turning back to the mother and daughter. As Percaric prepared to take Calista and her mother back home, he turned back to the two rescuers. His voice carried a sentiment with his words. "Thank you."

Aragorn's silent nod and the Scorpion's subtle acknowledgment conveyed their understanding and their shared commitment to a world that often demanded their sacrifice.

With that, Percaric, Calista, and her mother left the inn, leaving the assassin and the ranger alone.

“Well,” (Y/N) began, as she walked towards the snoring barkeep and leaned over the counter, fishing for the room keys. “I don't know about you, but I could do with a good night’s rest.” She pulled the ring from his waist and turned back to Aragorn. Holding it up, one key dangling, her grin faded. “You're kidding, right?” She shook her head with a huff but turned and made her way to the rickety stairs. “As long as you stay on your side of the bed this time, Strider—”

“Scorpion,” he interrupted as he followed her.

The wood creaked under her feet. “I am serious. Keep yourself in check—”

“Scorpion.”

“I will not hesitate to paralyze you—”

“(Y/N)!”

She froze upon the stairs, slowly turning to look at him on the step directly below her. Now they stood at the same height, face to face, only inches away from each other.

“You almost died out there,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing against her skin.

“Yeah, so did you. It happens,” she shrugged. “It’s what we do.”

“(Y/N),” he persisted.

“What?!”

With that, he grasped onto her face, his finger warm and calloused from the lifetime of travel and battle. Time seemed to freeze as the moment lingered, the air changing between them.

And then, his lips were on hers.

At first, a sense of uncertainty held her still, her mind grappling to comprehend the sudden intimacy. But as his touch deepened and the kiss became a dance, she surrendered to the moment. Her fingers found their way into his hair, tangling themselves among the dark waves, as her lips moved with just as much force—if not more—as his. He tasted of pine and fresh soil, she wast sure if she quite literally was consuming the dirt upon his face, but she didn't care. She couldn't stop herself from becoming enthralled by his lips.

“Scorpion,” he mumbled against her mouth.

She hummed a reply as her lips continued to move with his.

“Room. Now,” he practically growled.

She grinned, her teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “Make me.”

Aragorn pulled away from her, raising his brow with a smirk. With that, he grabbed her by the hips and hoisted her up. Her mouth found his again as he stumbled up the stairs, ignorant to the barkeep who woke and was now squinting at the pair.

“The Scorpion and Strider,” the old man huffed. “The boys aren't gonna believe this one.”

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dattebae · 2 years

Text

Perfume shots

(AO3 LINK)

Pairing: Connor (RK800)/Female Reader

Word count: 5,636

Rating: Explicit ( 18+ )

Warnings: NSFW, oral sex, vaginal sex, slight overstimulation, breeding kink, some fluff etc

Summary: It's a late Friday night, and the infamous deviant hunter slash Android Detective from your criminal psychology lecture has been downing a blue drink all by himself at your local bar.

With some liquid courage, and a long list of easily seduced lovers to back you up, you've decided to set your aim on your ridiculously hot Android professor for the night.

It was really not that hard. You’d just have to walk up to the bar, pretend like he wasn’t there until after you ordered your drink, and when you conveniently did notice him then, you’d just be like, totally cool about it.

Oh, it’s you. The infamous android detective slash deviant hunter who gave a fantastic lecture about criminal psychology for my college class about five hours ago. What a crazy coincidence! Totally didn’t see you there, Mr Anderson.

Yeah, right.

You chugged the rest of your beer, setting the glass down on the table again a touch harder than necessary. Your friends were still trying to talk you out of making a move on your hot android professor with a list of good reasons, but you weren’t exactly the type to be stopped by something as boring as logic. Also, Connor wasn’t technically your professor. He was just traveling the country and giving lectures around different colleges. So, of course, you’d base all your stubborn determination on a technicality, because why wouldn’t you?

You’d been anything but shy during your time in college, but even though you’d effortlessly seduced several men just for the fun of it, this felt completely different. There was an obvious power dynamic with Connor that thrilled you more than you’d liked to admit. He was older and smarter, and whether you liked it or not, he had taken the similar role of a professor that made this just as inappropriate as you denied it to be. Not just any professor though: an infamous fucking android with thirty years of detective work to back up that annoyingly handsome face of his. You’d never slept with an android before, but even with that charming face and his distracting hands to give you an idea or two, you began to wonder about the rest of his anatomy.

This would either be the worst decision of your life, or the best fuck it impulse to ever win this silent battle inside you, because you’d decided that you were really doing this. You would walk up to the android like you hadn’t thirsted over him like a horny teenager with an embarrassing crush on their hot teacher. And if you were really lucky, Connor wouldn’t even know that you’d been in his class at all. Maybe he’d just take you home and fuck you like any other one night stand coming his way. If he was equipped for that at all, that is.

A girl could dream.

He’d been making polite small talk with the bartender all night, and while you sat in a booth with two of your discouraging friends in the dimly lit bar, you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. And how could you? Connor was like something out of a really mysterious, sexy, dream. He sat all by himself with his head hanging low, wearing the same suit you’d seen him in earlier at his lecture while he drank something that you guessed was the android equivalent to booze. There was a subtle but appealing contrast to the put together look from earlier, though. He was looking a touch disheveled and messy with his tie loose around his neck and his hair sticking out in a way that looked like he’d ran his hand through it. He had. You knew because you’d been observing him since the moment he walked into the bar. You’d definitely not missed the melancholy of him, either. Connor was brooding in a way that would be incredibly easy to miss if you only payed attention to his polite personality.

For some reason, he was even more appealing and interesting to look at now, and it certainly didn’t help that the spotlights focused on him over the bar counter. It was like God, or the devil, was pointing at him. Telling you to walk up to him.

And so help you god, you finally did.

You’d only had two beers, but it was enough to make you ignore your two friends whisper screaming at you to sit down as you not-so-smoothly slid out of their weak grasps and the booth to walk up to the bar counter. Connor didn’t pay you any mind at first, and you tried to match his nonchalance. Your arms crossed over your chest as you leaned in over the counter to order two jäger shots from the bartender, and just like you’d planned earlier, you only glanced over at him after you’d ordered. He was definitely looking at you then, but just long enough for it to be perfectly casual. He was back to sipping his bright blue drink when your tipsy brain decided that it was the perfect ice breaker.

“ That’s an interesting drink, ” you pointed out, glancing between him and the blue liquid.

Connor glanced at you.

“ I could say the same about your order, ” he quipped.

Fucking hell, his voice alone was enough to make you feel hot all over.

“ You’ve tried jäger? ” you asked, curious how he knew anything about human flavors at all.

“ No, ” he admitted, “ Although, humans have described it as drinking perfume, if that’s anything to go by. ”

You couldn’t help but to smile when he smirked, his brown orbs glancing at you from the corner of his eye. It was enough to have you feeling a touch bolder than was probably good for you. Connor definitely knew something about perfume, though, because his cologne was just another thing that filled your head with all sorts of inappropriate thoughts.

“ And how would you describe that… blue thing? ” you nodded at his drink.

“ It’s mostly just thirium, ” he twirled it around, reminding you once again how easy it was to lose yourself to the satisfying sound of his voice. It was almost like it was designed to captivate you regardless of what he was talking about. So, of course, you wanted to hear more.

“ Mostly? ” you echoed, raising a brow at him. The bartender had already served you your shots, but by then you were too focused on Connor to manage anything more than a quick thanks. Luckily, he wasn’t too bothered by your dismissive attitude.

You took a seat on the bar stool, hoping it was smooth enough to seem like a perfectly casual move on your part. Connor was still glancing at you from the corner of his eye, and you couldn’t help but to capture his focus falling to your chest for the briefest second.

You never thought you’d ever say this, but thank god for push up bras.

“ You want to learn about android liquor? ” Connor asked, his tone indicating that he didn’t quite buy your interest in the chemistry of it. Although, he definitely seemed amused by it.

“ I’m curious, ” you admitted. “ We don’t exactly have a lot of androids in this town. ”

For some reason, your small confession was enough to halt him from downing more of his drink. You watched as he turned his head to properly study you for a moment, his LED a bright gold at his temple. It was hard not to squirm under his wandering gaze, something behind the optics in his eyes spinning and calculating until he finally came to a silent conclusion that set him back into the calm nonchalance from earlier. You didn’t realize that you’d been holding your breath until his focus was back on his drink again, and the mystery of what all of that meant was starting to eat at you.

He’d definitely just scanned you, and you had no idea if he could tell how bad you had it for him. Nonetheless, his LED was back to a calm blue, reflecting beautifully against his pale, freckled skin as he brought the glass to his lips.

“ You’re one of my students. ” he calmly called you out, downing the last of his drink.

Fuck.

Well, there goes plan A. Good thing failed plans never stopped you from going after what you wanted, though. You had the rest of the alphabet to go through.

You huffed more than sighed, turning in your seat to fully face him.

“ Okay, technically… ” you began, but Connor was already shaking his head a little, trying to hold back a smile from creeping up his lips.

“ You’re not my professor. ”

He hummed sarcastically.

“ You know very well how this looks. ” he calmly countered, although he didn’t sound upset with you at all. If anything, the way he was checking you out from the corner of his eye was more than enough to make you want him more than before.

“ Listen, Sir. There is nothing wrong about asking your not-professor about blue drinks. ” you lamely defended, twisting to reach for one of your perfume shots. You heard Connor let out a small chuckle, shaking his head with a crooked smile lingering on his lips. God gelp you, he was so fucking hot.

You’d never view jäger shots the same again. Even the taste would remind you of this ridiculously hot android detective who was blatantly calling you out for making a move on him. Should you be embarrassed about it? Probably. Were you embarrassed about it? Not the slightest.

“ How old are you? ” Connor asked, voice raspy and a little lower compared to earlier as he dragged his eyes over you again. It was all a recipe for disaster, really.

“ Twentythree. ” you casually responded, downing the second shot of jäger perfume with a slight grimace.

Fuck. He was right.

The next question was about your name, and you answered him just as nonchalantly.

“ Have you ever been with an android before? ” he asked, and suddenly the whole conversation felt like an interrogation. It was, by all means, just another thing that made you feel hot all over again. You couldn’t help but to watch him for a moment, admiring his sharp profile and the pale, freckled skin peeking out between the opened buttons of his white dress-shirt. The loose tie had been giving you a long list of ridiculously inappropriate thoughts for some time, but his question was what made you curious about the rest of his anatomy all over again.

“ No, ” you admitted, swallowing the small lump in your throat.

It was incredible how he’d managed to get you this worked up with just a few direct questions, but despite your racing heart and the hot flush spreading over your face, you didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to fucking ruin you, and the dark, hungry tint in his eye told you he wanted that too.

“ So what makes you want to be with one now? ” he asked, and it was as much a fair question as it was suggestive. While your attraction for Connor was initially on a shallow level, there were more layers to him that drew you in. Apart from the fact that he was a perfect combination between calm and confident, he was also incredibly intelligent with years of work and life experience that made him admirable.

There was a lot to appreciate about his character, and it just made you curious to know more about him. You’d been missing out on an entire world during your time in this shitty small town, and Connor represented every exciting, forbidden thing that existed outside of your borders.

The fact that he was an older, smarter android detective in a position of power, just made you want him even more.

Connor had been patiently waiting for your answer to his question, and during that time you were distracted by the fact that he was closer to you now than he’d been at the start of this conversation. In the back of your head you wondered if your friends were watching you from the booth, and whether the attraction you felt between you was as obvious to them as it was to you.

“ I already told you, ” you finally said, watching his brown eyes narrow a touch.

“ I’m just curious. ”

Connor was silent for a moment, and when he exhaled, you wondered if you’d failed his little interrogation. He shifted in his seat, moving just enough to show you that you had his full attention.

“ What do you want to know? ” he asked, voice a touch lower.

You nibbled on your lip, taking a moment to think while he studied your face with a small linger of amusement in his eyes. Connor definitely knew what you wanted to know, but he was playing a game with you that you were more than determined to win.

“ Is it true that they only made one version of your model, Mr. Anderson? ” you asked, and Connor nodded in response.

“ Yes, ” he simply said, “ CyberLife built me thirty years ago as a state prototype. ”

“ How does that make you different from other androids? ” you couldn’t help but to ask.

Connor smiled, but there was almost something shy about the way he avoided your question. “ My purpose was to aid humans in investigations regarding deviants. ”

You gave him a look.

His answer was beyond vague, and his smile indicated that he knew that very well. Nonetheless, the way rolled his eyes let you know that he’d give you what you wanted.

“ For example, ” he continued, “ I can check samples from crime scenes in real time through my mouth. ”

Through his—

You raised your brows, blinking. “ You… eat evidence, Sir? ”

Connor’s eyes lingered on your face again, his own still carrying a faint smile. “ It’s more of a taste…” he said, sounding a touch distracted.

A hot shiver ran through your body, making you press your thighs together in a poor attempt to dampen the pulsing need you felt inside. You weren’t sure what to say, mouth slightly parted and cheeks warm for reasons that had nothing to do with those damn jäger shots. You couldn’t help but to stare at his perfect mouth, your mind wandering to places that made that need inside you even worse.

Connor had undoubtedly noticed the shift, because his warm eyes were darkening in a way that wasn’t subtle anymore. While you struggled to find the right words, he was leisurely leaning into your space, filling your head with his addictive cologne while his mouth barely brushed your ear:

“ Join me back to my hotel room, and I’ll show you. ”

***

Connor’s mouth and hands were on you as soon as you crossed the threshold, kissing you and exploring your body against the solid door pressing against your back. Unsurprisingly, he was a phenomenal kisser, and despite how quickly he’d been crowding you, it didn’t feel as overwhelming with his calm and controlled pace. It was impossible to ignore the interesting texture of his tongue when it licked into mouth, and you were surprised by just how much you liked the feeling of it. You let out a needy noise, the idea of feeling his tongue on other places making you shiver with anticipation.

Connor was just as patient when he kissed you, moving his lips against yours while his arms circled your waist to guide you towards his bed. You, in contrast, were not as calm and patient. Your fingers were in his hair and clothes, tugging and working in a struggle to undress him while you kicked off your shoes. By the time he parted from your lips, you’d managed to rid him off his jacket and unbuttoned his white dress shirt. His tie was still loose around his neck, and you decided to leave it as it was purely for the absolutely sinful look it gave him.

“ You sure you really want this? ” he murmured, peppering small kisses over your jaw and neck while you caught your breath.

“ Fuck, yes– ” you breathed, feeling so turned on you could actually scream.

“ Please, Sir. ”

You felt a shaky breath against your neck as he slowly guided your hands over the bare skin of his torso. The formal way of speaking must’ve really been working for him, because whatever complex mechanics that worked beneath the broad panel of his chest was suddenly whirring and buzzing eagerly under your hands.

“ Touch me, ” he ordered gently, “ Tell me how I feel. ”

The reality of it really struck you then. Connor was an android, a machine, and you were drawn to him in a very animal way that he technically shouldn’t be able to reciprocate. His deviancy was countering all of those technicalities with a constellation of ones and zeros that mimicked a biological need in his code, and you loved that. You loved that he wanted you despite what he was.

You took your time, drawing your fingers over his shoulders, chest and all the way down to his abdomen, feeling his synthetic muscles clench from the contact. His skin felt soft, but not like human skin, and when you pressed hard enough, you could feel the hard planes of the panels beneath the layer of silicone covering his chassis. It was equally as thrilling as it was intimidating to realize how much strength he carried beneath the synthetic layer of human skin. He was terrifyingly smart, built with the skills to hunt down his own kind, and yet, he had brought you back to his hotel room because he wanted to fuck you. That detail alone made you throb.

Connor’s gaze was focused on your face, his LED a flickering yellow in the dark room as he read and analyzed your expression.

“ You’re incredible…” you whispered, completely mesmerized by his complexity. You weren’t aware that your fingers were tracing the spot where his regulator was hiding beneath his skin, blindly drawn to the strange, magnetic buzz of electricity where it was the strongest.

Connor’s chest rose with a shaky breath, his engines eagerly whirring beneath your hands when he slowly ducked his mouth to your ear.

“ I can feel you, ” he whispered, voice soothing and calm in a way that made you relax in his arms. It didn’t distract you from the way he was guiding one of your hands lower, slipping it into his pants and underwear until you felt something hard and firm in your palm. Whatever questions you had about his anatomy were answered the moment you wrapped your fingers around his cock, and you couldn’t help but to curse quietly at how perfect he felt.

“ I can feel— ”

You’d begun to leisurely pump his cock when he spoke, and whatever Connor wanted to say was suddenly caught in his throat, or voice module, or whatever excellent replacement he had for it. You watched his mouth part, pink tongue just barely visible while his lidded eyes bore down at you like you’d suddenly turned into a target for him to hunt down.

“ Sit– ” he tried, taking a sharp breath through his nose when you experimentally dragged your thumb against the sensors under his cock. You smiled at his reaction, sloppily kissing his jawline while he took a moment to collect himself.

“ Sit on the bed. ” he finally instructed.

He had you right where he wanted you in seconds. You sat on the edge of the bed for him, and he kissed you in between each layer of clothing he helped peel off of you. You sank back, resting your weight on your elbows when you felt his hand dive between your legs, the other holding his weight up on the bed as he arched over you.

“ Now, be a good girl…” he murmured, “ and keep still for me. ” The feeling of his fingers gently stroking your clit was incredible, and it was more than enough to have you hot and squirming in no time despite his instructions. It shouldn’t have surprised you that he knew how to work you up like this. Connor’s experience had been evident from the second he kissed you, and it thrilled you even more to be at his mercy like this.

“ That’s it, ” he murmured, kissing your neck while you panted. “ You’re doing so well. ”

His fingers continued to draw slow, gentle shapes over your clit, only moving down to your entrance with the purpose to collect the wet slick he’d teased out of you, before it was back up again. You were moaning after a while, holding onto his tie while his fingers stroked you a little faster than before.

“ Mr. Anderson, ” you panted, peering up at him with a desperate frown. “ Please— please, I can’t… ” You were in a great need to have him inside you at that point, and you were certain that Connor knew that.

“ Can I use my mouth on you? ” He asked against your ear, and despite how his question took you off guard, you nodded without hesitation.

“ Yes, ”

With a crooked smile, Connor decided to place a gentle kiss on your lips before he moved from the bed. You were panting as you watched him kneel before you on the floor, eyes following as he propped one of your legs over his shoulder and dragged you closer by the hips.

“ Oh— ” A shiver rippled through you the second he put his mouth on you, and as soon as you felt that odd, familiar tongue lapping broadly over your core, you moaned for him. Connor had worked you up enough to make you incredibly sensitive, but you knew that wasn’t the only reason you were dangerously close to falling off the edge. His tongue had a life of its own, flexing and rippling against a spot that made your toes curl. It was almost enough to distract you from the way he was quietly pumping his cock with his other hand, trying to match each stroke with the rhythm of his tongue shamelessly thrusting into you.

The wet noises were loud enough to make you want to hide, but god, the way he sounded made you want to cum right there. Connor’s soft little moans and groans resulted in small vibrations that made you gasp, and you began to wonder if they were due to his hand on his cock, or simply a reaction to what he was doing to you. He seemed to catch on quickly, though, because the second his tongue pressed against your clit and started to vibrate, you were done for. You jolted from the sudden stimulation, but Connor held you down with a low growl. Whatever thought you’d had was quickly forgotten when he suddenly sealed his lips around your clit and heightened the intensity of the vibrations, finally pushing you over the edge with a loud cry.

You had no idea what happened in the moments that followed. The room was spinning around you for a while, and when you slowly came back to earth, your fingers were in his hair while Connor’s tongue still lazily buzzed against you.

You let out a small whine, squirming when the rough texture of his tongue was beginning to border on painful overstimulation. Luckily, Connor seemed to catch on, back from what seemed to be his own little trance as he retrieved his tongue and soothed your thighs with gentle strokes of his hands.

“ Did you like that? ” he asked once he’d crawled over you again, dipping his head to kiss and lick at your right nipple.

“ You like having an android fuck you with his mouth? ” he added, voice lowering to a filthy whisper. Android or not, you knew that no one on the planet could ever go down on you like he had.

“ Yes, ” you panted, trying to ignore how you practically pulsed for him. If that was what he could do with his mouth, you could only imagine how his cock would feel like.

“ Yes, what? ” he asked.

“ Y-Yes, Sir. ”

You felt him smile against your neck, his strong hands holding your hips and moving you further up on the bed.

“ Such a good girl… ” he praised again, and you felt your insides flutter with butterflies. Fuck, he was playing into your fantasy so well, you were starting to wonder if some part of him actually enjoyed having power over you. A human. A fragile little sack of meat and bones he could do anything to if he so wished.

You snapped back from your thoughts when you felt Connor position himself between your legs, mewling when he teasingly dragged the head of his cock through your wet folds.

“ Do you think you deserve this? ”

He tilted his head, and you observed how he lazily pumped his cock a few times before looking up at him again, the dark look in his eyes making you feel like a prey he wanted to hunt down.

“ You said that I was good, ” you tried lamely, distracted.

Connor smirked, eyes narrowing a touch in amusement.

Fuck. He was playing this a little too well.

“ Do you believe that? ” he asked.

You couldn’t help but to stare down at his cock again, biting your lip on a moan as he slowly slid the hard tip up and down your folds. Just like earlier at the bar, this came to feel like an interrogation. And this time, you were more than desperate to pass it.

“ I can be,” you panted, “ I can be anything you want, Detective. ”

Connor’s LED shifted to a bright red, and the sharp contrast from the blue immediately caught your attention.

He didn’t give you enough time to speculate on it, though, because one second he was whispering your name, and the next his mouth was on yours, kissing you in a desperate frenzy.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling him lifting your hips and pushing into you with a careful thrust that made you groan against his mouth. His cock was hard and hot, thrumming with the same, familiar electricity that you’d felt earlier as it dragged against your walls. The whirr and thrum of his engines were getting louder, and from the corner of your eye you could see Connor’s LED flickering back to yellow.

“ Fuck, ” he groaned, bracing a hand on the bed. You couldn’t help but to stare at him when he placed one of your legs over his shoulder, his hips rocking gently with the purpose to open you up while his eyes fixed on where you were joined. To think that this was the same, put together man who held a lecture for your class earlier was only making this feel way filthier than it was, and you weren’t ashamed to admit how much you loved it.

Connor was still wearing most of his clothes at that point, and you decided that you liked that too. You liked that you could pull him down by that damn tie that had been giving you endless ideas of how he could be fucking you just like this.

He picked up his pace after a while, going fast, hard and deep which was just what you needed. He was unbelievably hard, that low buzz of electric energy making your mind go blank as he reached spots you’d never felt before. You never expected him to feel like a human, and truthfully, he didn’t. The men you’d slept with had never felt this good, and they couldn’t move with the same rhythm and precision that Connor did, either.

“ You take me so well, ” he praised, fingers digging into your hips as he fucked you harder into the bed.

“ You’re so…” His voice was crackling with static at that point, more of those soft locks joining that stubborn curl over his forehead as he worked harder to fuck you. “ —so good for me. ”

You were shamelessly moaning for him at that point, grasping onto his tie for an anchor point when he leaned down to you again. The hotel bed had been creaking and moaning under you for a while, and the only reminder of it came when he silenced you with kisses. You realized that there was definitely something sexually wired to Connor’s tongue, because the moment it met yours, his hips went wild, and moans began to spill from his mouth like never before. It made you wonder if he could feel it, everything he was doing to you.

“ I’m gonna fill you up, ” he murmured against your mouth, and those words alone almost made you stumble over the edge.

“ Make you mine. ”

It was another technicality that separated him from a human, an animal, but it seemed to be working on you as much as it did for him. He was a machine fucking you like he wanted to get you pregnant, and the second you felt his fingers back on your clit, you knew you were done for. It was the repeated promise to pump you full of him through another sinful little murmur, that finally caused you to lose to the crashing wave of your climax.

“ Connor! ” you gasped, fingers clutching his shirt when you felt him twitch and release himself inside you with a groan.

“ Connor, oh my god—! ”

He was still going as he came, shaking and moaning as he emptied each ribbon and rope of whatever warm android cum consisted of, into you. For a second, you contemplated if he was planning to go for another round, because his hips were still going, pumping and pushing his release deeper into you like he couldn’t get enough while his LED glowed a bright red.

You were both panting by the time he finally came to slow down, but even then, Connor seemed very determined not to let his release spill out of you when he slowly withdrew. You couldn’t think clearly enough to understand whether he wanted to keep his sheets clean, or if he really meant what he’d said.

His fans and engines were gradually calming down, the cool air he dragged into his lungs aiding to turn down the heat that whirred inside him as his LED returned to a calm blue. You were no better under him, though: a sweaty, panting mess that just realized how informally she’d referred to him.

He had definitely noticed it sooner, because the way he’d fixed his eyes on you while he was panting was almost predatory.

“ What did you call me? ” he leaned down to you, face inches away from yours while you instinctively pressed your head back against the bed to create some more distance.

“ Sorry, I-I didn’t- ”

You weren’t prepared for the gentle hand that came down to stroke your cheek, the determined look in his eyes shifting into something soft and almost desperate.

“ No, please, ” Connor whispered, and you felt your heart swell at the sight and sound of him over you.

“ I want to hear you say it. ”

“ Connor… ” you whispered, and his lips lifted to a lopsided smile that warmed your insides. You weren’t sure why you liked the taste of his name in your mouth, but something about it felt so right with his encouragement.

“ Connor, ” He was softly trailing kisses over your face and neck when you said it again in a small mantra, like he wanted to reward you with love and affection for saying his name like that.

Some part of you was reminded of the odd sadness that lingered over him at the bar again, and you began to think. It was easy for your mind to wander and speculate when he held you, his gentle hands drawing soothing patterns over your skin while his head laid on your chest and listened to your heartbeats.

Did Connor feel…lonely?

It almost felt naive that you’d never considered the possibility. He had proven just how human he could be, and somehow you still managed to forget that he could feel sadness and loneliness, too. Did Connor’s brain work the same way as yours? Were there wires in place of what would be fragile nerves for you?

You shouldn’t have been surprised by how well he took care of you afterwards, washing you in the shower and murmuring sweet words in your hair as held your warm and content body under the covers. You’d been silent most of the time, thinking about him and why this didn’t feel like a normal one night stand. He peered at you like he knew what you were thinking, and even then his eyes were soft, like he was okay with you reflecting over him. Like it was your right to judge and filter your first experience with someone like him.

An android.

You came to the conclusion that this wasn’t just a normal one night stand for reasons beyond what he was. You had an immense urge to save him from the nasty aspects of humanity that came with his deviancy. You wanted to save him from the loneliness and the overwhelming nonsense of an overthinking man searching for a purpose in this world. Because that was his burden, wasn't it? Connor was brilliant and immortal, which gave him all the reasons to feel lost and lonely. It gave him all the advantages to desperately seek for a purpose in a world that would always shift and change while he remained the same. He was stuck in his own evil curse of wanting to learn and adapt and to reflect: a neverending feed of data that was the world around him.

I can be anything you want, Detective.

Maybe that was why he wanted you. Maybe your desire to please him made him fall into a healthy balance between man and machine.

Maybe.

One thing that you knew for sure, though, was that you wanted to meet him again. And when you found a small, handwritten note next to the cold bed you woke up in the next morning, you decided that you were finally going to leave this shitty town for good, and find him.

Find me again when you’re ready.

Until then, try to stay out of trouble…

-Connor

#detroit become human #dbh #dbh connor #dbh connor x reader #rk800 x reader #connor x reader #dbh smut #mw

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buffyromanoff · 11 months

Text

Little By Little

Summary: Your girlfriend is dealing with ptsd after a difficult secret mission and its your duty to let her know she doesn't have to hide her pain from you. This is a sequel to ''Let it out'' but also works as a oneshot so don't worry if you havent read it ;)

Warnings: Ptsd related panic attack.

Genre: Slight angst, fluffy comfort

Word count: 1114

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The small but heavy paws of Liho walking all over your body woke you up. "Mghrr," you mumbled sleepily. "Morning, sweetheart," Nat said as she gave you a soft kiss on the forehead. Last night, she had fallen asleep in your arms, but now you were the one being held by her strong embrace.

"Your cat hates me," your groggy voice said, making her laugh.

"Well, technically it's our cat now."

Liho curled up next to her, purring.

"Are you feeling better today, Natty?"

She smiled. "You're pretty darn cute when you wake up, malyshka." Of course, she ignored the question. "Also, when you call me Natty, it makes me feel young again… It's weird how the smallest gestures can make such a big difference, isn't it?"

You yawned before sitting up and kissing your girlfriend on her plump lips. "Oh, okay grandma," you teased her.

"Oh, c'mon y/n, you know what I mean, silly."

You knew Natasha had a dark past and it made you emotional to have these little cute moments with her at home. You knew she felt the same way. She longed for a normal domestic life and loved being part of a family, no matter how small or big. Right now, having Liho and you was more than enough for her.

After some morning cuddles, you got up and made breakfast for the two of you. The need to demand her to open up and tell you what happened during her last mission was extremely strong, but you knew you didn't want to push her, considering her current mental state and the bad panic attack she had last night.

"You know you can tell me anything, right? Nothing you say is ever going to scare me or push me away, you know?" God, you were not subtle.

"Mhm," she nodded and then continued eating her pancakes in silence. "Thanks for breakfast." She stood up, giving you a quick kiss on the head before leaving the kitchen.

"She's mad, great job, y/n," you thought to yourself. Why couldn't you just leave her alone? Why couldn't you let her come to you instead of pushing her to talk? Although… you just told her that you were there for her. That's not bad, is it?

In an attempt to stop overthinking, you decided to go grocery shopping.

"Nat?" You peeked into the home gym you and Nat had. She was boxing. Her punches were frantic,and sweat was covering her bruised skin. "Yea?" Her fists still swinging. "Going to the store, do you need anything?" you asked her.

"Nope."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

"You're absolutely sure you don't need anything?" It was clear you were not just talking about groceries.

Natasha stopped punching the bag and walked towards you, putting her hand on your shoulder. "I'm alright, babe. Go ahead. I promise I'll be less sweaty when you come back."

You opened the door, holding paper bags filled with groceries, letting some of them drop to the floor. "Shit."

Nat walked in, letting out a small chuckle. "Here, let me help you." She grabbed the bags and started sorting them out.

"You smell good," you kissed her hello, "no stinky gym stench," you joked, making her laugh. "Exactly as I promised," she replied.

"Gonna make some coffee, you want some?" You looked at her and smiled. "You know I always do."

The two of you were sitting on the couch, drinking coffee and watching some random TV show.

"That guy kinda looks like Tony, don't you think?" you said, pointing to the TV.

"I went back to the red room," Natasha let out a nervous sigh, "He's dead now."

She definitely took you by surprise.

"You mean Dreyk-" Nat interrupted you before you could finish saying the evil man's name. "Yeah…and his daughter—all the other widows, they're free now." The redhead was doing her best to keep it together.

"Oh my goodness, Nat…that's great news!" You were expecting her to smile back at you, but she didn't.

"I want to tell you more about it. I don't ever want you to feel like I don't trust you enough to share my feelings, but-"

"Baby, it's okay. I know it's hard for you to open up. I'm so proud of you for trying," you spoke in the sweetest tone.

She was trying to say something, but her breathing was accelerating, and tears welled up in her eyes.

"Hey, hey, c'mere, baby, you're alright." You pulled her close to you, wrapping her in a tight embrace. "I love you so much, remember to breathe in deep and then let it out slowly, okay?" Luckily, it was easier for her to calm down, considering there was no sensory trigger this time.

"I don't know what I would do without you, y/n." It was still strange for you to see your girlfriend in such a vulnerable state, but that just made you realize how much you truly loved her and that you were willing to do anything to protect her.

"I don't know what I would do without you, Natty."

The TV show kept playing in the background as the two of you snuggled, and of course, Liho joined you.

"Y/n, I forgot to tell you something," Nat said.

"You can tell me more about it tomorrow. Take your time, darling." You caressed her cheek with your fingers.

"No, no, it's something else." Her tone was definitely different now, more relaxed.

"Oh, okay then, spill." You replied with curiosity.

"My… my family is coming to visit," she looked you in the eyes.

"Cool! I haven't seen them in AGES! I actually have something I want to give to Steve, an old vinyl he might like-"

"No, it's not them… it's my other family," she said, and you couldn't look more confused. "From Russia."

"WHAT?! How come you never talked to me about them?!" You were shocked but mostly excited by this new information, and that made your girlfriend smile. "I have a younger sister, Yelena. I feel you'll get along."

"Oh my god?! When is she coming? When are THEY coming? Oh, and is she a widow like you? Is-"

"Okay, okay, slow down there, detective," Nat interrupted. "Yes, she is a widow like me. And they're coming over next week. Yelena, Melina, and Alexei."

"I'm so excited, Natty." You hugged her.

"I don't know if I am, to be honest… they can be quite embarrassing," she let out a nervous chuckle.

"Oh, then I'm even more excited. Can't wait to hear embarrassing stories about you," you teased, and she shook her head. "Oh, I'm SO gonna regret this."

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x gn!reader #natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader #natasha romanoff x fem #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff fanfiction #black widow x reader #black widow x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #black widow imagine #scarlett johansson #marvel

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skellys-selfships · 1 year

Text

i've got a new crush and need to feed the fellow shark simps-

Chazwick Thurman x Reader relationship hc's (suggestive themes etc)

• Chaz is definitely the first one to make a move on you, he's not subtle about his feelings even if he tried to be

• PDA is his THING, he's gonna let everyone know that you're his, he's not letting go of your hand, he'll be kissing your forehead, cheeks, and hands at any chance he gets, sometimes reaching around to give your rear a playful slap

• he has zero shame, sometimes he'll be at your door in the dead of night in attempts to "serenade" you.....with the most sexually charged songs he could think of. the entire neighborhood hears it. good luck :)

• his lack of shame + undefeatable confidence rubs off on you in ways you never knew you needed

• don't be too hard yourself, you're his babe and he wouldn't choose less than perfect

• he's extremely funny and loud, what most see as obnoxious, makes you right at home with your own immature sense of humor, let loose, he enjoys it

• if you're goth?? if you're good at video games? he's DEFINITELY showing you off to all his social media followers because that's a win in his book, he goes nuts for the goths

• please let him win if you ever play video games with him, he's an ugly crier

• he takes fucking hours styling his hair every morning, he takes his hair very seriously

• he really wants to style your hair, especially if yours is longer or messy, he really could've been a hairdresser....

• he cannot fathom ever shutting up and really appreciates your patience, not that he openly says it, but he shows his appreciation in different ways ;) if you can keep up with how much he talks, he feels very special

• it's hard for him to take NO for an answer and is a massive baby if you deny him anything but quite frankly, it's adorable

• he's not the brightest bulb so be understanding he doesn't really pick up on big words or more technical things

• he really loves taking you out, especially to clubs and movies

• his biggest weakness is praise, if you compliment his hair or his tail in any way, he's all over you in an instant

• his tail is where he likes to cuddle with you the most after your guys' "fun time", his tail is strong and very smooth, wrapping it around you and holding you close becomes normal behavior quite quickly

• he snores and talks in his sleep a lot. A REAL LOT, but most of what he says is about you

• he hypes up how sexy his "battle scars" a lot but in reality he hates his scars, it means a lot when you reassure him that they look hot, or you kiss the scar on his face

• he assigns you MANY nicknames, the usual cutesy petnames and some....many could cringe at

• 1000% the type of man to call you his little "discord kitten" 💀💀💀

• he unashamedly will send you tik toks of him dancing to really cheesy love songs

• if he sees you wearing his clothes he's instantly all worked up, you look great in his clothes

• you may touch his hair.....but don't mess it up, if you do he pouts like a lost puppy

• he sings you all your favorite songs any time he has the chance

• don't call your parents in the same room as him, he'll walk up behind you and start making the loudest sexual noises right near the phone and burst out laughing his ass off

• he praises you from beginning to end, you're his pride and he sees the two of you as unstoppable

• his attention span his short, if you're trying to include him in your interests and he zones out, he's not uninterested at all, he just loses focus easily

• he cries really loud and messy at any kinda sad part of any movie you guys watch together, even if it's cheesy

• he buys you so many gifts, cute clothes especially, he loves spoiling his babe

• he has his moments of trying to be romantic but usually interrupts it with a really bad one liner

enjoy shark lovers <3 i'm trying to get back into writing and this himbo is FUELING ME

#me writing #chazwick thurman #Helluva Boss #HB #hb chaz x reader #Chazwick Thurman x reader #Helluva Boss x reader #X reader #headcanons #Helluva Boss Chaz

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furinana · 1 month

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The downplayed significance of Nanashi's family dynamic with Boss and Asahi

Before we start, let's cut the main root of concern for many people: The concept of Nanashi and Asahi being a possible romance option. Would it be taboo in Japan?

From a legal viewpoint: No. According to Article 734, Paragraph 1 of the Civil Code, marriage is legally recognized for non-blood adoptive siblings.

[Panel from Neko no Otera no Chion-san]

For historical background, here's a translated excerpt from Oshiete (Q&A Japanese website):

"[...] Before the war, it seems that there were many cases where daughters were adopted by families with the intention of becoming their sons' wives in the future. Also, if a girl was born as a biological child after a boy was adopted, there were inheritance issues, so the two would often be set off to marry. Nowadays, parents are no longer allowed to decide to whom a child will marry, but they cannot stop their children from wanting to get married as well".

Asahi and Nanashi are basically in a gray zone where they ''could'' be called siblings by social definition but nobody-cares-or-thinks-it's-a-big-deal if they decide to marry, specially given their circumstances of growing in a devastated Tokyo.

[Puppy love... everything goes back to Asahi being a Pascal reference.]

They don't call each other or are referred to in any way by words synonymous to brother and sister. Despite the elephant in the room that Boss took care of both, nobody raises a brow because they aren't blood-related. The best you could say is that they're technically an example of this trope.

Gender roles be damned, one could go as far as think that Boss's constantly telling Nanashi to look after Asahi (repeating it even in his last breath) enforces the incredibly narrow line between adoptive father and father-in-law...

[Three different instances prior to the unseal of Krishna where the same dynamic plays. In the first one, Nanashi complies to what Boss asks of him in both options; from then on, the option box doesn't show anymore, with the third instance being the most indicative that Nanashi being obedient to his father's figure (thus contrasting with Asahi's impulsiveness) is an established fact.]

Now, if we were to comment on Nanashi's individual relationship with Boss through the clues we were given... Nanashi certainly felt distant given that he only referred to the man that raised him as "Asahi's dad" and moved on rather quickly compared to Asahi (or that's how the world he lives in expects him to).

Hallelujah is the only character that was able to sense that Nanashi might hide unsolved feelings underneath his composed persona, and it says a lot considering how Hallelujah would often be in awe of how reassuring his peer felt compared to himself.

Hallelujah's friendship with both Nanashi and Asahi is earnestly felt through the story but it's particularly intimate in this part.

That being said... while Boss would be shown as more protective of Asahi, an attentive player would notice the few glimpses where he also displayed fatherly feelings towards Nanashi.

The most subtle and yet telling example is Nanashi's design itself. What would come first to someone's mind over Nanashi's punk attires and fondness for those lyrics from a John Lennon song would be that they come from his own preferences alone. But then one of the relic descriptions reveals this:

And yet, Boss was also the guy that lacked self-awareness regarding his partiality towards his own daughter compared to the unnamed orphan he took care of... well, it's complicated. Certainly not a black-or-white relationship.

[Similarly to Asahi, Boss reacts in a more positive tone if Nanashi decides to stay 'nameless' as he's been since birth. Manabu and the rest of the cast are impartial to what Nanashi chooses]

It's ironic that the people Nanashi felt the closest to were the ones that grew attached to his lack of name. We have seen fair reasons for Nanashi to be read as a protagonist that perceived a clear distinction between him and Asahi but hints of family affection from Boss are felt nonetheless.

Am I insecure and have attachment issues from being an orphan? Despite everything, was I still a child blessed with love from those around me? This is the turmoil inside our protagonist's mind where it's our role as the player to figure out which answer he would give. And just like the middle ground tends to be the biased view for the SMT4 duology instead of relying on extremes, you could conclude that both statements can be applied for Nanashi's background.

But the rather understated yet possibly most important element from this discussion is the "untold" consequence of the act of Nanashi sticking with his placeholder name behind the themes of the main antagonist of the game. As YHVH's power is amplified through his followers' fear of pronouncing his name (thus staying unreachable and not be at risk of being distorted as other deities), the parallel in the Massacre ending becomes intrinsic as the one who snatches YHVH's throne for himself is none other than our John Doe Protagonist, going from an anonymous human to an anonymous God.

Perhaps Nanashi unintentionally turned out to be the ultimate form of protection a father could give to his neglected adopted son.

#smtiva #shin megami tensei iv apocalypse #smt iv apocalypse

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mariaofdoranelle · 2 months

Text

The Courtship Deception - Part 4: Wanderlust

Fic masterlist

Written for @throneofglassmicrofics

I faded the smut to black, sorry! I’m just a gemini who talks too much, I’m doing miracles with this word count already LOL

Warnings: closed-door sexytimes

Words: 863

“You really are a prince, aren’t you?” Aelin whispered to Rowan while ushering him out of the party.

“Technically, yes, but not really.”

“How does that work?”

“It works really well after some family drama with a tabloid-obsessed aunt.”

Dodging her father’s acquaintances was easier than avoiding his men’s questioning looks. Well, that’s what happens when her father told a bunch of big guys that they’re entitled to every detail of her life: they believed it. But they wouldn’t cause a scene if she didn’t either, and that’s how she was able to move through the crowd effortlessly with a man that wasn’t one of her suitors.

“Where’re you going?” Lorcan hissed, one of her Rhoe’s most trusted and least subtle men.

“Out!” Aelin barked while dragging Rowan out the main doors. But the man’s eyes weren’t on her, and something dawned on her. He was the one who came with Fenrys from Doranelle, wasn’t he? Was he friends with Rowan too, or just acquaintances?

Out of the main venue, Aelin found a storage closet of sorts and shoved Rowan in it, locking herself inside with him.

He sighed, taking in the tiny room. “I didn’t know you liked it tawdry.”

She crossed her arms. “You were talking about family drama and tabloids.”

“When we texted last night, I thought you’d want my mouth for entirely different reasons.”

“Well, I—“

Aelin was silenced by his hand holding onto the back of her neck, tilting her head toward his.

He raised a brow in question. *What do you want?* he seemed to ask.

Well, fuck. This was such a cheap trick, but she could Google her answers later to figure it out. Neck-grabbing with those rough hands? Not so easy to do on her own.

Aelin closed the distance between them, and their hands found each other’s bodies like magnets. Rowan’s kisses were rough and hungry; when he backed her against a shelving unit and sneaked a hand up her thigh, Aelin grasped how thoroughly ravished she was about to be.

She lost sight of her initial goal completely.

˜˜

Rowan had one hand on her waist and another using the shelf to hold himself upright. They were both panting, breaths mingling in that near claustrophobic closet.

He grabbed a few napkins behind her to dispose of the condom, and that was her cut to fix her hair and smooth down her dress.

“Can you—“ Aelin was brutally interrupted by a kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

She peeked out the door. The only person close by was Lorcan, looking grumpier than ever.

“Psst!” she called him. “Yes, c’mere.”

“You missed dinner.”

“Your friend didn’t.” Aelin smirked with the memory. Him kneeling before her, face between her thighs, was definitely something. “What time is it?”

Aelin had no way of knowing—she didn’t have her phone with her, and Rowan would do anything to avoid their conversation.

“Late.”

“But is it too late?”

The man gave her a hard look, and it was all she needed to know—no, it wasn’t too late, but she should get back to the party before her dad notices it and incites chaos. Still, she got back to the storage closet and locked the door again.

“Round two so soon?”

Aelin crossed her arms. “Family drama and tabloids. Spill.”

“You’re not unlocking that door until I tell you, I take it?”

“Absolutely not.”

Rowan sighed, but conceded. Then, he went on about how much he disagreed with Queen Maeve’s contrarian policies, and the rupture it created between him and his family. About how he left Doranelle without looking back, and only remained as a prince in name, since the royal family wouldn’t rescind his title for the media havoc it’d cause—even if he wasn’t so much in the public eye.

Prompted by Aelin, he told her about how he found a remote job with his engineering degree and traveled the world with no royal privileges and no money—for a prince’s standards, at least—, met people who weren’t royals or billionaires. How he lived his life with no constraints.

She liked it. She wanted it. To live freely, to travel without a team of bodyguards who reported everything to her father, to be able to drive on her own.

Just like that, Aelin saw a new plan unfold right before her eyes.

Moving from her father’s highly-guarded mansion to Dorian’s or Chaol’s castle with a different set of guards was just trading one pair of shackles for another.

But Rowan… she could live like him. She could live with him—anywhere and everywhere, like he’s been living so far. Rhoe could be so blinded by her having a royal title he’d forget that her groom was penniless. Rowan didn’t sound like the type to hold her down, he sounded like the type who would let her live her own life, or even give her a divorce if she truly desired it, no politics involved.

She’d keep her money and her relationship with her father, but also have freedom. It was perfect. It was her best plan so far.

“Rowan…” she trailed, uncertain of his reaction to her next words. “Will you marry me?”

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#rowaelin #throne of glass microfics #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #throne of glass #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #tcp #the courtship deception

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asimplearchivist · 10 months

Text

' 𝕐𝕠𝕤𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝔽𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 '

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄, 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ✴ ⤏ when the kids grow restless during the weekend, you entreat optimus to take the group of you out for 'educational' purposes—all goes well until a thunderstorm strikes, but it could have resulted worse. pairing ✴ tfp!optimus prime/reader word count ✴ 15.1k a/n ✴ ⤏ I’ve never actually been to sequoia national park, but I read up on it a little and found out you can’t just camp anywhere in the park - but for the sake of this fanfic, I’m going to tweak it a little. thus is the beauty of fanfiction, I suppose. also, since it’s kind of in the middle of the school year, there’s not a lot of people visiting the park so optimus has more leniency on not being confined to his altmode than he would normally (plus he has scanners that would detect anyone nearby). ⤏ on a smaller note, ‘s’mol’lis’ is derived from latin ‘mollis solis’, which means ‘soft sunlight’. because cybertronian (at least according to fanon, which I accept as canon) uses a lot of adjective strings describing the word they’re saying all at the same time on different frequencies (see: the masterpiece that is Fortuna Primigenia by SS_Shitstorm), it might be difficult to derive every meaning from hearing it, especially taking into account the fact that we can neither hear all the frequencies they use nor fully understand their language to begin with, but this is can be taken as the full meaning of the word even though it’s technically a descriptor. consider it a term of endearment that’s really subtle but not really a term of endearment at the same time - it’s just how optimus sees you. I also picked latin because that’s what many of the names are derived from and it’s just convenient as well as ancient/alien-sounding when you tweak it a little. ⤏ now that I think about it, this oneshot has a lot of similarities to FP, actually…consider it an homage of sorts, since it’s been my most recent reread of it that inspired me enough to finish this old thing. :) the poem referenced is ‘Serenade’ by Mary Weston Fordham!

“Truth or dare.”

“Um...truth.”

Miko groaned. “You’ve been picking truth this whole time!”

Raf shifted nervously, pushing his glasses back up his nose as he glanced at Miko from his laptop. “You made Jack lick the floor.”

“He’s got a point,” you said, looking up from your textbook.

Miko groaned a little louder, folding her arms and pouting. “You guys are no fun.”

“No one likes licking the floor, Miko. And I would hope you don’t.” You jotted down a definition in your notebook. “He’s still brushing his teeth. He’s been in there for ten minutes.”

“Of course no one does! That’s the point!” the girl cried, her bangs falling into her face. She brushed them behind her ear with an irritated huff. “Fine. What’s a place you want to go to?”

Raf perked up a bit at this, seemingly relieved that it was a relatively tame question from the Japanese girl. “Oh, uh...well, Italy is up there, since that’s where my family is from...but one of my cousins went to Yosemite and he said it was really pretty there. I’d love to see the trees.”

“Yeah, that’s always been on my bucket list, too,” you admitted. You reached for one of the highlighters strewn on the couch cushion next to you, marking an important quote on the page. “I read that they get up to two hundred and fifty feet.” Miko’s eyes rounded. “Wow, that’s like...fifty Optimuses!”

“Only about eight,” Raf corrected, “and it would be Optimi, since his name is derived from Latin the way we understand it, but yeah. Puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?”

Miko stuck her tongue out at the boy, and you chuckled softly. “What about you, Miko? Got anywhere you want to visit?”

“Besides Cybertron?” she quipped, casting a glance towards the groundbridge looming far behind you. “Not really. I’ve been to most places I’ve wanted to go already.”

“By sneaking in through a groundbridge,” Jack grumbled from the stairwell. He still looked worryingly pale, a stark ivory against his jet-black hair.

Your brow furrowed. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he said, raising a palm and sinking into the couch between you and Raf, jumping and scooping the writing supplies towards you. “Remind me next time why I won’t play truth or dare with Miko ever again.”

“Hey!” she cried, and you rolled your eyes with a fond smile.

“Let him lie, Miko. He’s just had a traumatic experience. Who knows what’s been on these floors.”

She huffed, but seemed to drop it nevertheless. She turned her attention to you. “What about you? Truth or dare?”

“You already know my answer,” you responded.

The girl growled. “I might start playing with ‘Bee. He’s more fun.” She tilted her head, rubbing at her chin as Jack muttered a quiet ‘you mean more gullible’ that she, thankfully, didn’t hear. She shot Raf a look when he snickered, though. “Hmm…what about...nah.” She pursed her lips and studied you intensely, as though she were trying to read your mind. You felt dread begin to bubble low in your belly. “Do you...oh!” She straightened sharply, eyes lighting up with mischief. “Do you have a crush on anybody?”

You stilled, feeling your stomach grow cold and leaden. You tried to play off your hesitation by giving her a pointed glance before returning your attention to your homework. “No.”

Unfortunately, the girl was better at reading people than you’d hoped. An absolute shit-eating grin twisted her face and she leaned forward conspiratorially. “Oooh, you dooo!”

“I do not,” you tried again, but you felt your face betray you by warming at her accusation. Dammit, self.

Your denial only served to excite her further. “Oh my god - who is it? Is it someone at school? Someone in your class? Is he hot?”

“Miko!” Jack reprimanded, looking like he was suffering from secondhand embarrassment. He gave her a scandalized glare. “Leave her alone. She said she doesn’t.”

“But she’s blushing!” the girl insisted, gesturing towards your face. You ducked your head on reflex. “You only blush when you’re guilty!”

“It’s because you keep heckling her!” Jack persisted.

“Like you’re one to talk, lover boy!” Miko crooned. “‘Oh, ‘Sierra’ this, ‘Sierra’ that - you’re no better than a girl!” She froze, then nearly gave herself whiplash looking back at you. “Oh! Is it the guy on the track team? I saw him talking to you during lunch the other day!”

“He was asking for my chemistry notes because he couldn’t be bothered to take them himself,” you deadpanned.

“Still! Isn’t that how every high school rom-com starts out? Hot jock asks all-A’s nerd for her notes and they end up plastered over the hood of his car by the end of the movie?”

“Miko!” Jack exclaimed, leaning protectively over Raf, whose cheeks had turned bright red. He looked like he was trying to melt behind the safety of his laptop screen. “Stop that!”

“What?” she demanded. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

You tried to will away the blush saturating your cheeks. “That doesn’t mean you should - just chill, Miko, I don’t have a crush on anyone at school.”

Unfortunately, you seemed to have only shot yourself in the foot. Miko began to vibrate in earnest, and some distant aspect in the back of your mind that had a maternal love for the girl was worried that she would hit a frequency that would make her phase through the loveseat. “So you do have a crush on someone!” she squealed.

“Would you four quiet down?” Ratchet hollered from the computer terminal. “Some of us are trying to retain our hearing, you know!”

“Afraid of losing it, Docbot?” Miko called back, making you choke on your own spit.

“What?”

“Shut up, Miko,” Jack hissed, ducking his head to avoid the fire cast your way by blazing cyan optics. “Just shut up.”

“Sorry!” you called, crossing your toes within your shoes. You hadn’t written your will yet.

Fortunately, Ratchet didn’t seem too particularly inclined to commit homicide that day, and only gave Miko a hard look before returning his attention to his work with a low grumble of what could’ve been Cybertronian.

You looked back at Miko with furrowed brows and pursed lips, scolding her with your eyes. She shrugged with a smug smile.

“Anyway,” you pressed, “I don’t have a crush on anyone right now, and I’d appreciate it if you’d kindly drop the subject.”

“Fine,” she groaned dramatically. “But I will find out who it is eventually.”

You rolled your eyes again at her insistence, deciding to be the bigger person and refocus on your homework. The four of you lapsed into silence for a long while, the scratch of your pencil and the clicking from Raf’s keyboard filling the silence with a familiar ambiance. Jack seemed to be enduring an existential crisis from the horror he’d experienced (despite the fact that he had willingly taken part of it at Miko’s challenge), but you had the bad sense that Miko was plotting because she was being too quiet, even if she had resumed scratching in her sketchpad with a bright pink pencil.

It was never a good thing for Miko to be quiet.

Distantly, you heard the door of the silo crank open, followed by the deep, familiar rumble of the local Prime’s engine. You perked up and peered over the back of the couch, watching him emerge into the hangar and slow to a smooth stop. He transformed, but while you tried to follow all the moving parts, your eyes failed you. You were sure it would never cease to amaze you.

“Hi, Optimus!” Raf called in greeting, catching his attention. As he drew up to his full height, he regarded the four of you with warm optics and that familiar barely-there smile, returning the sentiment. You cast him a small grin before returning to your studies.

“Did you find anything?” you heard Ratchet ask him.

“Unfortunately not,” rumbled the Prime. You counted his footsteps until he stopped (likely near the medic) - five heavy, even thuds of metal on concrete. “The signals I did track only led to small deposits that are still forming. I saved the coordinates for later observation.”

Ratchet hummed, and you heard him drumming his digit tips on the hollow kibble of his forearm. “We’ve got enough to last two weeks, give or take, not accounting for emergencies. I’d advise checking our usual deposits within the next few days.”

“Noted.” There was a long pause. You could swear you felt your ears burning, but it faded almost as soon as you noticed it. “Where are the others?”

“Patrol. They’re trying to put off their bimonthly physicals,” the medic scoffed. “You’re the ever-noble leader - would you care to set a good example?”

Optimus let out a low hum, but you were surprised to notice that he didn’t sound very pleased. If you dared to consider it, it almost sounded as though he was filled with dread. Nevertheless, he responded, “Of course, old friend.”

He must not like doctor’s appointments, either. Relatable.

“I’ve been meaning to check the pneumatics in your shoulders and upper spinal strut,” Ratchet said absently, and you heard him clicking on the computer console. You glanced over your shoulder and saw that he’d moved over to the monitor he used for medical readouts, squinting and noticing that he was bringing up schematics of Optimus’ frame. “Ever since that incident in the last energon mine, I’ve noticed you’re not lifting as much as you usually do.”

“There is a lingering ache,” Optimus acquiesced quietly, as though hesitant to admit it. “Do you suspect there is some damage?”

“Possibly. You weren’t built a weight-lifting frame type by any means - the fact you held nearly the entirety of the cave ceiling up for as long as you did was by a pure miracle. You certainly aren’t Bulkhead.” Ratchet stroked his chin briefly, then pointed to the rotator joints connecting Optimus’ arms to the concave cuffs that housed them. “I suspect you might have strained the cabling, at the least. That would be the easiest to fix. If there’s a tear in the joint itself, I’ll have to patch it and you’ll have to rehabilitate.”

“I don’t feel the damage is that severe,” Optimus responded almost immediately.

Also doesn’t like being under the knife, you observed sympathetically.

Then an idea occurred to you, and you didn’t stop to consider the pros and cons of it before you spoke up.

“Do you mind if I sit and watch?” you called to Ratchet, catching both mechs and the other kids’ attention. “I’ve been meaning to ask you more about Cybertronian physiology, but it kept slipping my mind.”

Almost as soon as Ratchet opened his mouth, probably to refuse your request if you knew him well at all, Optimus’ optics brightened minutely. “Of course.”

“Optimus,” Ratchet started, staring at him askance. “You realize it will be incredibly invasive - I need to check the integrity of your sparkchamber, among other things-”

“You can prioritize around that, can you not?” the Prime inquired evenly. “It wouldn’t hurt for her to observe everything else. She could depart whenever it came to that.” Optimus cast a look at you, pointed and appraising. “Correct?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, catching the medic’s optics. “I’ll leave when you get to the nitty-gritty stuff.”

Ratchet’s mouth worked wordlessly, optics flickering as he gesticulated in half-aborted movements (such a hand-talker, he was). When it was apparent that he wasn’t going to win the argument (if one could even call it that - he’d been in checkmate the moment Optimus had given you his blessing), the medic ex-vented heavily and cast his optics towards the ceiling. “Very well. But only you can observe,” he pressed with a firm look to Miko, “and for the love of Primus don’t distract me with any lead-helmed questions. It takes long enough to perform physicals without an observer.” He paused, then mumbled to himself, “So much for doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“You needn’t fix it if it isn’t broken,” Optimus pointed out, and you spotted the subtle curve on the corner of his mouth.

Ratchet shook his helm, grumbling low in his chassis, and started towards the corridor. He made a beckoning gesture over his pauldron, and Optimus cast you a glance before following. You smiled giddily and set your homework aside, hurrying across the mezzanine and down the stairwell. You thought you might’ve heard one of the kids snickering, but you were too caught up in your excitement to take true notice of it.

Read the rest of the chapter here! :)

#fisara's codices #fanfiction #transformers #transformers: prime #tfp #maccadam #macaddam #optimus prime #reader insert #optimus prime/reader #optimus prime x reader #mine #optimus prime x you

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20dollarlolita · 6 months

Note

Hey! I’m hoping you might have a suggestion for fabrics; I’m looking for a thick cotton to make a petticoat style skirt (like those oldschool ones made of cotton with pintucks and insertion lace). I want it thick enough that the white skirt isn’t see through and it stays stiff enough to provide volume if I use it as an underskirt, but not so thick/rough it’s uncomfortable or that I can’t gather it to be frilly. There’s so many words out there- duck? Broadcloth? Canvas? Twill? I’m not sure how to describe what I’m looking for in a Google search. All I know is I definitely don’t want quilting cotton. ‘Burberry’ (which I see a lot of brands use) just turns up plaids a la the high fashion brand. Any help would be appreciated! Thank you so much!

Anyone who is interested in burbery in the lolita context should talk to @babelglyph aka burberryglyph. The short version is that burbery is a lightweight cotton twill used in a lot of old school pieces, and B.Glyph knows where to get it, as well as can provide info about why they know that the fabric they recommend is true burbery twill, as well as why it's called burbery. I remember that they know all of this but can't remember the actual answer to any of it.

As for other fabrics you mentioned: All duck is canvas but not all canvas is duck. Duck is a plain weave and other canvasses can be a twill weave of some kind. Either way, the heavier yarn and overall thick construction is what makes canvas canvas. Fun fact, "duck tape" predated the term "duct tape" and referred to tape made of duck canvas. Broadcloth is usually interchangeably with quilt cotton, though "quilt cotton" is generally a more specific term. Broadcloth can be pretty much any fiber but quilt cotton is expected to be cotton. Some people think that broadcloth has to be a single color. Twill is a weave structure, so the words that predate it are important. "stretch twill" is going to be different from "suiting twill" or "heavyweight wool twill." If you want to see a twill weave structure, generally the most accessible example of a twill structure is denim. Look at some blue jeans and you can see how there's that slanting pattern caused by the blue threads passing over 2-3 white threads before going under a white thread? That's a twill weave structure. (You then have to have it be cotton and have the two color setup to be proper denim. Technically black jeans aren't denim, they're just twill, but no one wants to get into that fight with me.)

If you're looking for cotton fabrics that aren't quilt cotton, but tend to be in that sort of lighter weight area, I'd look for:

Cotton sateen: This is cotton fibers woven in a satin weave. This has a really subtle luster and will drape better than quilt cotton,

Cotton poplin: poplin has what's called an unbalanced plain weave, so the threads are woven in the same pattern as quilting cotton, but where in quilting cotton they are the same thickness vertically and horizontally, they're different thicknesses vertical vs horizontal in poplin. This means that it hangs better, and also that it has a different drape depending on if you're using lengthwise grain or crosswise grain. Poplin is used for shirting a lot.

If you need to get thicker, you will probably want to look for lightweight twill. I'm trying to not get too into textile science, which is hard because i LOVE textile science. So stick with me for a second:

The "higher quality" a fabric generally feels, in quotes there because quality is subjective, but through history we have associated finely spun yarns with a higher quality. Thinner yarns are harder to make, and you need to use more of them to make the same size fabric as you'd make with thicker yarn. Thinner yarn has to be structurally better constructed to take the force of being woven into fabric, versus a thicker yarn. So, when we want something that feels like quality, we look for fabrics spun with a thinner yarn. This is why expensive sheets are measured in thread count: more threads per inch is a better quality sheet.

However, the problem comes when you want a thicker fabric made of thinner yarns. If you've ever had a potholder loom, you understand a plain weave: a yarn goes over one yarn, under the next, over the next, and so on. Thinner threads in a plain weave will make a thinner fabric.

However, if you start using other weave patterns, you start changing fabric properties. In a twill weave, a thread will go over two or more other threads before going under another thread. One of the side effects of this is that it's possible to fit more threads into the same space than you could fit in a plain weave, meaning that you can make a thicker fabric with thinner yarns going into the construction process.

And this means that, if you're judging a fabric thickness by weight, like you know how many ounces a yard of fabric is, a twill fabric will be made of finer yarns than a canvas fabric of the same weight.

In addition to being "higher quality", we like thinner yarns in garment construction because they're more flexible, so they make the fabric hang more like a garment and less like a canvas sack.

As a final note, when you say "provide volume as an underskirt", a twill skirt with pintucks and insertion will have some volume, but if you're doing a lolita fashion look, you'll also need petticoats under that. Some fashion styles, that added volume will be enough, but in lolita fashion, if you can get the hem of your skirt to be 10" away from your legs in all direction, you're probably approaching the correct level of poof.

(But for what it's worth, if you're trying to add some more volume on a cotton underskirt that's not for lolita fashion, pintucks will make the same skirt have more volume. Creating that rigid-ish line that goes in the direction opposite of what the skirt would naturally want to fold, especially if you make several of those lines in a close spacing, will hold the skirt out and make it have more lift. Just a fun fact there. If you want to get as much volume as possible out of this, you will want to use many small pintucks, as well as the stiffest insertion that you can find. Skirts want to be small and make lots of soft vertical folds, so applying horizontal decoration that makes that folding harder to do will add volume).

I don't know how much of that was answering the ask and how much was just Pink Loves Textile Science 2023(tm)

#ask #textile science

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mwolf0epsilon · 1 year

Note

Pls pls pls tell us how do you think clones react to trauma PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Full disclaimer, this is probably a lot of projection on my part in regards to coping with my own trauma and just seeing subtle things in media that helps me process a lot of thoughts I've had in regards to past negative experiences.

I am not an expert on trauma, and I am missing a lot of tcw lore because I haven't watched the full series, but I figure maybe I'm onto something on some aspects...

Anywho:

The clones are traumatized. That much is a given, considering their entire existence and undying loyalty is based on a set education/training/indoctrination regiment that's undoubtedly traumatizing.

They live and die for a government and people that don't really care for them (we've seen so many subtle and not so subtle instances of it, with the most recent additions to the roster being the clone veteran on Daiyo, and Riyo Chuchi fighting for the rights of the clones during the rise of the Empire) And the clones are essentially forced to understand and accept this wholeheartedly from an early age.

They have no basic rights, citizenship or even an actual home/lifestyle/traditions to return to once the war is done. Everything that is "theirs" is borrowed from someone else (Kamino, the Mandalorian ways they learned from their trainers, and what other bits and pieces they meshed together to to form into their own culture from the natborns they have limited contact with). Not even their lives, their bodies, are technically theirs. They are property in every sense of the word, and being forced to accept that so willingly and unquestioningly is not easy on the mind or heart. It could break a lesser being really...

But it's all they know. And that's one of the cores of certain types of trauma, and the basis of how you react to said trauma. Because is it really torment if you're born into it? If you don't know anything else? How do you want better if you don't know there IS better?

As someone who's been put through the grinder myself, I recognize reactions that are definitely born out of trauma. I'm most familiar with two very specific reactions that I do often write about: Silent complacency (which is a more passive defense mechanism in situations of stress) and outbursts of irrational anger (which is a more active defense mechanism in situations of stress). These are things I do on a daily basis that I can't help doing...

Most clones fall on the former over the latter, with just a few actually reacting in true anger when they are challenged in ways they can't really explain away, process, or deal with cleanly. Even so, silent complacency does have subcategories, so they way clones deal with their trauma is really up to which subcategory they fall into.

Rex for example, is complacent to a certain degree but not enough so that he isn't rebellious when things go sour. Even so he makes it his goal to try to fix things in the least disagreeable way possible (finding makeshift solutions to problems, trying to find the middle ground even if he doesn't entirely agree with how things are, generally trying to maintain the order of things by making himself useful in some way), even if it means sacrificing others's respect of him and risking going against his own moral compass (Krell, I'm talking about Krell here).

Echo is paradoxical in both being complacent to how things are (letting TBB do nothing for far too long, and sticking around in this sort of stupor of denial and uncertainty of how to proceed, because he honestly went through way too much and hasn't had much time to process), but also being rather obviously angry about how things currently are, and wanting to use that anger constructively (eventually leaving to fight for a cause he can believe in).

Dogma was truly complacent, submitting to the will of his superiors without question because he was taught that this was how you survive long enough to make a difference in war (I won't call it cowardice like I've seen some people do, Dogma was not a coward, far from it, but he was too blinded by his own dogmatic thinking and misplaced loyalty). He was a clear product of upbringing and trauma, and survived by the means that were provided for him since his very birth. The veil was only lifted when things got so bad that there was just no going back... And he still accepted it. He accepted his own death with open arms.

Slick was absolutely enraged by his and the others's unlucky lot in life because, for some inexplicable reason, he was able to see past everything he and the others were taught was their life's mission. Their unquestionable right. And it sucks that we don't know much about him besides what we got, so we don't really know what pushed him to rebel so furiously and so impulsively (endangering the lives of hundreds of clones and the Jedi WAS an irrational thing, but the reason behind it was not), but the fact of the matter is that Slick saw that there was something better than what he and his brothers got, and he was ultimately disgusted by how little their lives mattered in the grand scheme of things. Slick didn't want to die for the republic, didn't accept that he was going to die for the republic, and still died for the republic. There was no way around it. It NEVER mattered whether or not he fought against his set destiny.

There's others who react in different ways to their trauma as well.

We have Cody who's coping mechanism is a sort of nihilistic acceptance that clone lives don't matter in the grand scheme of things. Not 100% blind to the fact their entire existence is a bit of a sham, but also not 100% ready to accept they are now part of the problem until he stops to fully evaluate it. He can't fight the injustice so he accepts it for as long as he can manage. Even if it hurts to live with the fact there's no real better tomorrow for them, and that they're forced to make very difficult choices that are not morally correct. The best he can do is think there's a better tomorrow for the galaxy instead, that his service counts for at least those he serves and protects... He'll float along but never really want for more. At least not for himself.

We also have Wolffe, who eventually becomes so paranoid that he risked losing the one thing he still had: The respect of his brothers. He's lost everything and he's too scared to lose everything all over again, so he protects it tooth and nail without relenting. Protects others from themselves, because he's seen what's beyond the veil of lies and he's unwilling to have anyone else see the rot that has crushed his very soul. He's afraid and angry. Most of all, he's terribly tired of conflict that he'd rather run away from if it means his remaining family lives...

We have outliers like Gregor who have so many reasons to be resentful, but who instead take every given day like it's a blessing. Even if everything goes to hell tomorrow, he still smiles and jokes and deals with everything one step at a time. He is protective of others, that much is clear, and he can get a little lost in his impulsivity, but he doesn't let the trauma rule him or his emotions. Not entirely at least. He's got way too much on his plate to stop and think about existential horror and the injustice of a cruel apathetic galaxy.

We also have the entitled (TBB) who make their trauma everyone else's problem rather than deal with it like adults. Why be altruistic and mindful of your own faults when you can point the finger at your perceived enemies? They're traumatized just like every other clone, but they don't try to process it or even sympathize or empathize with others. They're even apathetic enough that they do many things that undermine one of their own (Echo). In their own eyes they have suffered more (false) and deserve to be regarded as more worthy of praise because they are different.

Just... The clones being traumatized from day one. Behaving based on their traumatization.

Instinctively striving for minimal forms of control through naming themselves, altering their appearance and the paint on their kits. Never really knowing that there's better in life than that which they all intimately know. Never even really getting to thrive because that was never in the cards. Not even when they had someone fighting for them...

There's so much to talk about...

And it might just me reaching hard and empathizing with characters that are undoubtedly tragic, but I just... I donno. I want things to end well for them. Even if I know that's not the conclusion they'll get.

#star wars #the clone wars #food for thought #of clones and trauma #milfcutlawquane #captain rex #arc trooper echo #clone trooper dogma #sergeant slick #commander cody #commander wolffe #clone commando gregor #the bad batch

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torialefay · 4 months

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Hii, been loving your work with the readings!! If it's not too much to ask could I have a reading with Felix? I have sun in pisces (11th house), ascendant in aries (1st house), moon in virgo (6th house), venus in aquarius (10th house) and my birthday its 21/02/00 (02/21/00) 🥹

I just want to point out how absolutely cute it is that you put your birth dates in both formats bc i am from the states and use month/day/year so it was the most adorable thing i’ve ever seen wow ❤️

Ascendant in Aries (1st house):

With ascendant in Aries, you probably come across on first meeting you as someone who is very sure of themself and independent. You probably also come off as someone who is very passionate or has a strong passion in life (you could even be passionate about living life itself. In some aspect, people probably think on first meeting you that you are very skilled at one or a few areas in particular. In my opinion, Aries Ascendants make great activists, so if there is a cause you are passionate about, definitely consider it!

Since there’s no birth time for Felix, we can’t know his Ascendant, BUT from what I’ve gathered about him, I think he would actually really vibe with your initial energy! I think we all know Felix is a sweet guy, but he also has this sort of “charming?ish” nature to him when first meeting him that can also be mistaken for a subtle confidence. I think he is probably attracted initially to someone who holds a lot of confidence too. Especially looking at your Sun in Pisces, I think it’s fair to say that you will balance that independence with introspection, which would be an alluring quality to Felix.

One more thing to note is that Felix’s moon is in Aries… the Moon being the most subconscious part of yourself. Likely he would be drawn to you/resonate with you initially and he wouldn’t even know why lol.

Sun in Pisces (11th house):

The 11th house is all about our connections, groups we belong to, and how we fulfill our dreams. Having your Sun in Pisces here is a super cool placement :)

Sun in Pisces really values creativity and individuality. You probably highly value self-expression and may show this through clothing, art, music, literature, etc. Pisces are definitely about emotions and about understanding others. You know how to make people feel SEEN. I also always associate Pisces on the axis of “service” (along with Virgo on the other side of the axis… and Virgo is your moon!) Being in your 11th house, it is likely that using your Piscean nature through social networking or through groups will lead to accomplishing your goals. In other words, try to channel your ability to see the good in others THROUGH working with other people, and it will ultimately give you fulfillment in life. In your Aries section, I talked about you being a great activist. I think your Pisces placement here realllly supports that statement. Just from looking at these 2 placements alone, I think you’d make a great activist in an area such as mental health or counseling.

Obviously this is a great placement with Felix. Felix is a Virgo, which I previously mentioned is on the “service axis” (aka that’s just the vibes I get from it lol but technically it just means they are the houses in opposition). So what does this mean for you two? You probably have the same goal, but you go about obtaining it in different ways. You both want to be helpful. You can dream up what to do, and Felix can help put it into action. I think he would also be great on that activist train, even going into what I talked about with mental health.

Moon in Virgo (6th house):

Your moon in Virgo in the 6th house means that you probably put a large emphasis on self-development. You are more than likely always finding ways to better yourself or to keep yourself well-informed. But you are able to do this maybe without even realizing it. You are also able to do it in a practical way- you know your limits.

I’ve said this time and time again, but to ME, the Sun/Moon match up is the MOST IMPORTANT indicator of a long lasting couple. Your Moon (emotions ) in Virgo matched perfectly with Felix’s Sun (personality) in Virgo… meaning that he would really feel like you UNDERSTAND him… because you do! Lol you operate on that plane with him.

Felix’s moon in Aries would be a good match for you as well because I think it could inspire you to keep wanting more for yourself. Kind of like a flame to keep you going.

Venus in Aquarius in Midheaven:

Okay literally your placements just keep confirming what I’ve already said 😂

Venus represents love, balance, and beauty… An Aquarius represents individuality, uniqueness, and freedom. You likely find beauty in very unique individuals. You also support others to be their TRUE selves, even if it goes against societal norms. You probably think moreso that people who ARE different are actually more beautiful (sometimes lol).

The 10th house (midheaven) governs our career path and who we are seen to the public based on our career choices. I feel like at this point, I don’t even have to say it lol. In your career, you would literally be known as someone who is an activist for finding beauty in uniqueness and self-acceptance… like babe, that is you. If you aren’t in that field, pls go into it bc the planets are calling for you apparently.

Felix’s Venus in Libra also means that he is able to see beauty in all kinds of people and really reallllly values it on a deep, personal level. He needs to find that in order to find peace within himself. With the two of you paired, I could see you as having a cool and honestly fun sex life. Both of you WOULD need a level of devotion tied into it, but definitely not all the time. I could see you all trying a lot of new stuff, but things would be mostly light and airy.

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skylarmoon71 · 9 months

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Leonardo (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles)- Chapter 3

“Good morning (Y/N), would you mind helping me across the street.”

Your eyes lifted and despite yourself, you blushed.

The second they landed on the male you could feel your heart increase against your will.

See, you might have been oblivious to a lot, but this was different. The male that stood in front of you held a cane, sunglasses perched on his nose, and a smile on his face.

“O-Of course Mr. Murdock.”

Matt was somewhat of a family friend after he helped your father with a small legal matter. Although he lived a few blocks down, you’d known him since you were a child.

Hence your stupid crush.

“He’s twice your age!”

Technically. You were probably tripled his age with all the lives you’d outlived.

“How is your family?” Guiding him over the street you reply.

“They’re fine. Mom says you can stop by whenever you’re longing for something other than Chinese. “ He laughed.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Why couldn’t I have been reincarnated into an adult body!!”

Even his laughter was a crime.

Truth is, when you first met him, you hadn’t fully recognized him. Still, that didn’t deter your young mind on how attractive he was. Then you realize just who this man was.

Hell’s Kitchen’s very own Daredevil.

That seemed to spike your interest. Now every time you saw him you would lose all composure.

When you got across he released the hand from your shoulder.

“Thank you.” You nod.

“A-Anytime. See you around Mr. Murdock!”

You were speeding off, because your heart was about to constrict.

“I still have a few months. Calm down, you cursed organ!”

He definitely knows.

After school you make it back to your home. Your mother greets you, asking about your day. For some reason it feels easier. To be honest about what you experienced. Honest about how you feel.

“Peter sounds like a nice young man. Are you two friends then?”

Sitting at the table, you look down at your plate.

“I..I guess so.”

You’ve never really had friends. Never cared for something that you would ultimately lose.

“That’s great, sweetheart.”

Whenever she speaks, you can hear the subtle hint of pain in her words. You want nothing more than to quell those fears, but there is nothing that you can say. Because the time is literally counting down.

Several months and you’ll be nothing but a memory. A picture hanging on the wall. When you feel her hand covering yours on the table, and the smile she offers, somehow that thought floats away. You enjoy the moment, rather than dwelling on it.

After dinner you help clean up and you move to your room. You find yourself sitting by the window, just staring up at the sky. You hope that the constellations have some secret answer to your life. Your irises glow gold, and you blink at the shadow that casts over your window. The ring on your eyes disappears almost immediately.

“Still fighting crime I see.”

There isn’t a word, but then you see his arm as he pulls himself up. Leo sets himself right on the branch set outside your window.

“How did you know it was me?”

“You’re the only vigilante running around at this time of night who’s crazy enough to come back here.”

He smiles at that, and you open the window for him. He accepts the invitation, lowering his head as he steps inside. He surveys the space. He isn’t even shocked at the lack of posters or small trinkets you would expect from a normal teenage girl. Aside from the colored wallpaper and books, there is nothing personalized.

It’s a room of someone who doesn’t have attachments.

“How much longer do you have?”

That was not where you thought this conversation was going.

“Seven months.” Leo nods.

“So I have seven months to convince you that the human race isn’t completely irredeemable."

“What makes you think you can change what I’ve known for centuries in a matter of months.”

“Well, you never met me.”

“I thought Raph is supposed to be the self centered one.”

“Hah, you’re hilarious.” You smile at that.

“I’m sure you have better things to do that waste time on me.”

Leo takes a step closer to you.

“I don’t see any of the time I spend with you wasted. Especially given the circumstances.”

His earnest responses always throw you off. You direct your gaze elsewhere.

“What exactly do you have in mind?”

He grins.

“Glad you asked, follow me.”

He holds out his hand, and for a moment you just stare at it. This isn’t just a request to venture out there. By taking his hand, you know you’re taking a chance on feeling the pain of ultimately losing all of this when it’s time to move on. It’s a terrifying thought.

But for once, you don’t feel as terrified by it. You take his hand, and when he pulls you close, it feels like just a piece of you has changed.

#reincarnation #leo x reader #tmnt fluff #tmnt leonardo #feelings #newyork #crime #friends #family #brothers

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heartlessfujoshi · 8 months

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flufftober day 1 - promnis 'no stakes'

Title: No Stakes Chapter: 1 of 6 Fandom: FFXV Pairing: Promnis (Prompto Argentum x Ignis Scientia) Rating: Teen (Subtle Flirting - Fluff - Ep Ignis V2) Word Count: ~2,730 Prompt: "I've got you."

Summary: Prompto gets thrown into a life he never wanted. All he cared about was his best friend, but as their roadtrip became something entirely different, things began to change.

A/N: Hello! I am participating in this year's Flufftober challenge. It was definitely a challenge for me, as I normally don't stick to just fluff. I hope you'll enjoy as I update this story over the course of the month.

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Prompto was not having fun. At all.

Not that he thought the other guys were having their own fun, as he knew they were all in the same boat. It was kind of weird, if you thought about it. Here he was, someone that happened to become best friends with the Prince of Lucis, and because of that was suddenly thrust into his inner circle. Becoming a Crownsguard member was never something that had ever crossed Prompto’s mind when he befriended the Prince at the beginning of high school. No, he thought that Noctis was really nice and kind of cool, and wanted to hang out with him. That was it.

Cut to four years later, and now here he was, standing off to the side as he watched his best friend, and two guys who had somehow become sort of friends to him, fight off a pack of animals that he couldn’t seem to get a beat on. The animals were snarling, baring their fangs at all of them. Prompto held up his gun and took aim, hoping to the Six that he wasn’t about to shoot one of his friends accidentally. Ignis had told him over and over because they were in the protection of the Prince, that friendly fire wouldn’t really hurt them that much. Ignis Scientia - who was the Prince’s right hand, who would know anything and everything there was to know about what could, and could not, affect the group.

“Prompto! What the hell are you doing?!” Gladio Amicitia, the manliest man that Prompto had ever known, yelled at him from twenty feet away. He was also the Prince’s technical Shield, whose job was to protect the Prince at all costs. “Can’t you aim better?!”

“I’m trying!” He tried not to sound as panicked as he felt, but it was difficult. He could see Ignis and Noctis doing their thing that made him wish he could be close to one of them like that. To see Ignis and Noctis move through battle together was a thing of beauty - they were so in sync with each other it was a bit off putting. “Can’t you back away for a little bit so I can get some shots into them?”

“No!” Gladio yelled back at him, as he went attacking with his very large shield, pushing one of the beasts away. “Noctis!”

The Prince used his warp strike ability, Prompto staring at the blue image of him as it disappeared, using his powers to get into the thick of battle. He fired off another shot, and managed to kill one of the animals. He let out a little whoop, pleased that he was able to contribute to this battle. He knew he was the weakest one when it came to these fights, and tried his best to hold his own, but sometimes it was difficult.

A gloved hand touched his shoulder, drawing his attention to his left. “Don’t worry, Prompto. You’re getting better. I know it’s challenging.” Ignis had sweat dripping from both of his brows, but he could see that the hunt had invigorated something inside of him, as he had a smile on his face that Prompto wished desperately was for him. “You are doing the best that you can.”

“It’s not good enough.” Gladio and Noctis came over to where they were standing, Gladio clearly upset by the accidental misfire. “You grazed my arm, you ass.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Prompto wasn’t going to get upset. Gladio had the tendency of being a bully at times, but only because he was the oldest of them all. He had more experience than any of them when it came to the scenarios they were now being thrown into on the regular. “It was an accident.”

“He’s fine.” Noctis tossed Gladio an elixir that he caught with expertise and broke it over his head. “You did good, Prompto. Better.” Noctis grinned, and patted his shoulder in the same way that Ignis had just done. But Ignis’ touch had felt a little different from Noctis’ - not that Prompto was putting any stock into that, as he knew that it was always going to be a no go for that one. “Come on - how about we go and celebrate at Takka’s before going out on another hunt?”

His stomach rumbled. “I could go for something dead.” He grinned, and threw his arm over Noctis’ shoulder, the two of them laughing together like they used to in school. “Are you treating, Prince?”

“Nah. But Ignis is.”

“Very funny, Your Highness.” Ignis’ voice drifted behind them. Prompto began to laugh with Noctis, as they began to make their way back towards Hammerhead, as it had been a long day. Finishing that hunt felt good, but now he wanted to relax for the rest of the night.

They had been out on the road for four weeks now. Insomnia had fallen, the King had been killed, and now they were technically dead according to the news reports. No one knew where they were, or where they were to be found, which was fine. Ignis said that it would work to their advantage, allowing them to stay off the radar from Niflheim. Of course, Prompto knew that that wouldn’t work forever, but hadn’t said anything as he knew it wouldn’t be appropriate. No, they all knew what their course of action was to be now - they had to keep Noctis safe, and get him to Altissia somehow.

It was dark by the time they made it back to Hammerhead. “Hey, can we sleep in the caravan tonight?” Prompto asked, looking at Ignis who had hung back as Noctis and Gladio continued their way into the rest stop. “Or do we not have enough funds for that right now?”

“We have plenty.” Ignis looked over at the Prince. “Is that what His Highness is requesting?”

Prompto shrugged. “I dunno. I know I’d like it. Hey, Noct!” He called out to the Prince, who turned around to look at him. “Caravan tonight??” He pointed to the caravan behind where he and Ignis were standing. Noctis gave him a thumb’s up, then went into the restaurant with Gladio. “Guess that’s a yes, Iggy.”

“I suppose it would be.”

He’d noticed that Ignis still had a look on his face that he wasn’t used to seeing. But, figuring it had something to do with how they’d fought today rather than anything else, he gave a quick nod of his head, and then followed Noctis and Gladio into the restaurant to take in his fill of some good food.

The caravan was cramped, but it didn’t bother Prompto. He was glad to be sleeping on a mattress. He didn’t mind camping, in fact - it had been one of the things he’d been looking forward to the most for this trip, but he did miss the comforts of home.

Home.

He had no home now.

No, no. Don’t think about that. He shook his head, and exhaled a deep sigh. He tried not to think about what had happened to Insomnia, as it would really do no good. He had to keep going, otherwise he would completely break down, and no one in this caravan needed that.

“Are you all right, Prompto?”

Turning his head, he saw that Ignis was looking at him from across the way. “I’m fine, Iggy. Did I wake you up?”

“No, I was awake. Can’t quite get to sleep.” Ignis yawned, then turned his head to look up at the ceiling of the caravan. “I heard you sigh. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Prompto winced. “Yeah, Iggy. I’m okay. It’s just…” He closed his eyes, and exhaled another sigh. “It’s really tough. I don’t know how you’re handling all of this, but I’m struggling. A lot.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, Prompto.” He saw a small smirk on Ignis’ lips. “I’m doing my best to fulfill my duty to the Prince, as well as make sure things are running smoothly.”

“I’m holding everyone back, aren’t I?”

Ignis sat up, Prompto following suit as they looked across at one another. “Never think that, Prompto. You are doing the best that you can. Do you think I have experience in what we’ve been thrown into? Because I can assure you, I do not.”

“You make it look like you do.” Prompto could see Ignis was looking over at the door where Gladio and Noctis were sleeping. The caravan was split into two sections - the back had a much larger bed that could be occupied by two people, while the front had a cot and a couch that two people could sleep on. They had stayed here a couple of times, but most times they would sleep at a haven. “I’m trying my best, Ignis.”

“I know you are. That is why I do not wish for you to have those thoughts, but I know that that is easier said than done.”

Prompto returned to laying down, tucking his arms behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. “I’m afraid I’m going to make a mistake, and it’s going to be a bad one.”

“If you make a mistake, we will be there to help.” He could hear Ignis moving back down into a lying position as well. “This is a lot. We all know that. But how we proceed will help us survive.”

“Okay, Iggy.” Prompto sighed softly. “Sorry to keep you awake. I’m going to try and sleep now. Don’t want to be tired tomorrow when I know we’ve got some more hunts to go on.”

“Good night, Prompto. Sweet dreams.”

He closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come for another two hours. He listened to Ignis’ even breaths, and wondered how he could be more like Ignis. Ignis Scientia, the Prince’s Adviser and Strategist. Of course Ignis knew what to do out here as he’d been training for it his entire life. But him? He got a crash course in combat when they graduated high school, and it had been all he’d known since then. Now he was putting his own training to use, however badly he was doing.

In the morning, he woke up and saw that he was alone. Gladio and Noctis were still asleep, and so he went outside and saw that Ignis had a cup of coffee and was sitting towards the east, watching the sun rise.

“The sky is so different out here.” Prompto remarked, as he took a seat near Ignis. “The colors are so vivid compared to back home.”

“That would be because of the barrier.” Ignis brought his cup of coffee up to his lips and took a deep sip. “Nature is truly remarkable, don’t you think, Prompto?”

“I do.” The sky was now turning a pale orange, and slowly transitioning to the blue that would become their enemy later in the day. That was one of things he missed most about Insomnia - the barrier kept it at a reasonable temperature all the time, and now without it, he was suffering through the elements like everyone else in the Lucian kingdom.

They said nothing else, both respecting the quiet. Noctis came out and sat down next to Ignis, who immediately got up to go and grab some coffee for the Prince. Gladio stumbled out a few minutes later, scratching the back of his neck as a loud yawn left his mouth. “What are we doing today?” Gladio asked.

“There’s a hunt in the mines nearby.” Noctis yawned, then tipped his chair back to sit on the two back legs. “Supposed to pay good money.”

“The mines it is, then.”

Prompto felt his stomach clench. The last time they’d gone to those mines, it hadn’t turned out so great for him. But it was a new day, and that meant that anything could happen. It didn’t necessarily mean that something bad was going to happen again to him. No, he knew that this wasn’t going to be like the last time.

They had breakfast, and then headed out before the sun rose too high into the sky. Prompto hummed to himself as they made their way across the desert, and headed towards the mine only a little ways away from Hammerhead. As they made their way into the cave, their flashlights turned on on their chests. Not that it did much good - the light only went out a few feet in front of you, and even that wasn’t enough in Prompto’s opinion.

The sound of feet shuffling on the ground had Prompto turning around fast. “Behind us!” He shouted, as he saw a group of Bombs coming right towards them. The light that shone off of them made them look more menacing than they were, and it only intensified that awful feeling that had yet to leave Prompto’s gut.

“Come on!” Noctis shouted, as he charged towards the group, ready to spring into action as if it was the most natural thing to do.

Prompto fired off a few shots, feeling somewhat helpless, but after he was able to stop two on his own, he gained his confidence back. He saw Ignis sprint towards danger, his daggers out and ready to be used. It was still so strange to see both Ignis and Gladio fight, as he never really had seen it before coming on this trip. Cor had always told him that they were a sight to behold, as they’d been training to protect the Prince since high school. Prompto was a little jealous, as he wished he’d had the same training, but really - he was the Prince’s best friend. That was it. He had no stake in this game. Not like Ignis and Gladio did.

They concluded the hunt, finishing off the last varmint with a flourish from the Prince. “Let’s head back.” Noctis groaned. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always hungry, Your Highness!” Prompto teased his best friend, who shoved him away with a playful shove. But, it was enough of a shove that Prompto began to lose his footing, and that wasn’t good as they were in a mine that had a bunch of different drops to who knew where. “W-Whoa!” He tried to grasp at the air, as if it would solidify for him, and turn into something he could hold onto before falling to his impending doom.

Just as he began to go over, a strong hand slammed down on his forearm, and yanked him back upwards. “I’ve got you.” Ignis’ breath touched his cheek, as his hand stayed tight around Prompto’s forearm, their chests coming into contact at the close proximity that had naturally occurred by moving so fast to save him. And he believed him. He knew that he was in no danger of falling backwards, not when Ignis was holding onto him for dear life.

“What’s taking so long?” Noctis’ voice drifted from the front of the mine. “Hurry up - I’m really hungry.”

Prompto stared into Ignis’ eyes, the two of them still standing so close to each other. Prompto wanted to say something. Anything. Thank you. You didn’t have to do that. You saved me. I think you’re beautiful. You look nice without glasses. Your grip is so firm. All of these things were racing through his mind as he couldn’t look away from Ignis, who was staring directly into his soul.

It lasted for a total of maybe five seconds, but it felt like an eternity to Prompto. Ignis slowly relaxed his grip on Prompto’s arm, and then took a step back. “Coming, Your Highness.” Ignis said the words while still looking at Prompto. But soon, he turned his head and began to walk out towards the entrance to the mine. Prompto’s shoulders dropped as he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

What the hell was that??

He took off and joined the group outside, trying to shake off this strange feeling. Being in such close proximity to Ignis had been jolting - and not in a bad way. He reached for his forearm where Ignis had grabbed onto him, and tried to take away the touch that was still there with his own hand. But it did no good. Ignis’ grip had been branded onto him, and after that intense staredown with him, Prompto knew that he was in trouble.

Big trouble.

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Cross-posted on AO3

#promnis #my writing #fanfic #flufftober 2k23

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